BACK TO THE FUTURE novelization by Kristen Sheley
Dr. Jai Maharaj
Back to the Future Screenplay Information!
I decided to post this to answer one
of the most frequent questions I am
asked -- where to find the
screenplays for the Back to the
Future films? I got mine through
Script City, which is located in
California. Although I own the first,
third, and fourth drafts of BTTF,
"Paradox" (the draft of the sequels
when they were one film), an early
draft of BTTF2, and an early draft of
BTTF3, not all of these may be
aquired through SC. (The one of
BTTF3, in particular, which I
acquired online through a place
called "The Script Store," but who's
web page URL doesn't seem to work
anymore.) I also bought these
screenplays back in the mid-1990's,
and I'm not sure how many of these
drafts are still available today.
Check the website and call or e-mail
them if you have any questions. Even
back when I ordered mine, some of the
drafts they had were not listed in
the catalog at the time.
However, one may download, free of
charge, the fourth draft of BTTF and
the "Paradox" script, courtasy of
BTTF.COM. They are in the Adobe
Acrobat format, which must be used in
order to view it, but this can also
be gotten for free. I also novelized
the first draft of BTTF back in the
day and have it posted on my webpage.
It is a novelization -- not a
screenplay. Okay? (Some people have
posted this erroneously in other
spaces on the 'net, much to my being
ticked off.)
Once you go through the work of
acquiring them, I think you'll be
happy. They are very very interesting
reads, with extra information on the
characters, a lot of scenes that
never made the cut, and -- in the
case of the very early drafts for the
original Back to the Future -- almost
a completely different film
altogether!
If you can't wait a few weeks to get
your hands on the screenplays, or if
they are indeed no longer available,
I have summaries written out on all
the screenplays I've read, as well as
the official novelzations, at The
Future That Never Was. But beware --
if you want to be surprised while
reading the screenplays the first
time, don't go here! Spoilers lurk
within and tt'll ruin the surprise.
"Back to the Future"
"Novelization" by Kristen Sheley
Based on the 1980 Screenplay by
Robert Zemeckis & Bob Gale
Synopsis: In a nutshell -- this is a
novelization of the original (1980)
Back to the Future screenplay,
written by Robert Zemeckis and Bob
Gale. Taken directly from the
screenplay.
Written: The screenplay in 1980; the
novelization in 1994 - 1995.
Revised: December 1997 [for the
novelization]
Length: Approximately 33,000 words
Notes: In the fall of 1994, I
discovered this wonderful catalog
from Script City which had the first
draft screenplay for the original
Back to the Future. Naturally, I
ordered it. It so blew me away once I
read it that I decided to give myself
a writing exercise -- transfer the
screenplay into novel (or, in this
case, novella) format. I'd known for
a while that books that spun off
films were taken from the
screenplays. I was curious to see how
difficult this would be.
Well, as that saying goes, easier
said than done! It was very difficult
creating descriptions from what was
in the screenplay without making
things up yourself or plagiarizing
what the screenplay had in it. After
a couple weeks, I pushed the project
aside. I picked it up a couple times,
however, as the months wore on. And
finally, about 6 months after
starting the thing, I completed the
novelization. It's something that I
don't intend to do again, but it was
an interesting and learning
experiance.
Let me just say this now. As
incredible as this may seem, I made
none of this up! None of the
dialogue, none of the facts, none of
the story twists. All of this was
what the screenplay had in it! I
altered nothing! This is what the
very first draft Bob & Bob came up
with looked like. May seem a bit
incredible, but also shows you how
much a story can change over the
drafting process!
And no, sorry, I'm not doing this for
the other BTTF screenplay drafts!
The Novelization
Chapter One
The credits began to roll across the
TV screen for the movie Close
Encounters as the 3/4-inch cassette
finished copying over to Beta and
VHS. Seventeen-year-old Marty McFly
looked up from his issue of Rolling
Stone, where he was checking out an
ad for a guitar amp. Maybe after a
few more pirated tapes he would have
enough money to buy it.
Marty set the magazine down and
stopped the tapes, rewound them, then
took a pen and carefully wrote,
"Close Encounters, Original Edition"
on the labels. He placed the master
tape in a drawer. Other titles of
bootlegged videotapes jumped out at
him as he did so: The Empire Strikes
Back, Stir Crazy, and Superman II.
Marty turned off the video equipment
and picked up his schoolbooks, along
with the other two videocassettes. He
walked into another room connected to
the video lab. This one was much
larger, filled with workbenches
covered with electronics, chemical
equipment, and dust.
"Professor Brown!" Marty called to
the older man at the other end of the
lab. "It's almost eight thirty -- I'm
outta here!"
"Shhhhhhhh!" Professor Emmett Brown
hissed, his white head bent over what
looked to Marty like a solar cell. At
65, he was considered the town
eccentric, an inventor who's
inventions didn't always work the way
they were supposed to. Professor
Brown was tall -- though his posture
had grown more hunched with age --
and had a mane of shaggy white hair
that was almost always unruly and
uncombed. At the moment, the
Professor was trying to get the cell
positioned under the skylight in a
certain way, maybe to catch the
sunlight. Marty stepped closer to
him, curious on what the project was.
Whatever he was working on it looked
old, maybe 30 years. The Professor
poured some kind of chemical solution
into a compartment in the cell and
plugged a patch cord from it into a
Voltmeter. A light bulb on the panel
glowed dimly and the meter needles
moved slightly.
"Blast it!" Professor Brown
exclaimed. "Twenty four measly
volts!" He threw a flask across the
room in his frustration, shattering
it against the wall. Marty jumped
back, startled.
"The power of a million hydrogen
bombs," the Professor ranted,
pointing to the sun that shone down
though the skylight, then to his
experiment, "and we get twenty four
measly volts. It's not fair! I've
been working on this power converter
since 1949, and you'd think in all
that time, I could find the right
chemicals that would efficiently
convert radiation into electric
energy! But no! Thirty three years of
dedication and research, and all I've
got to show for it is a bootleg video
operation!"
"That reminds me," Marty began, "if
we could scrape up enough for a 35
film chain, I've got a connection
with a projectionist in a first run
house -- we could be sellin' new
movies on the street before they're
even in the theater."
"A 35mm film chain...." Professor
Brown mused. "I'll see what I can
do...." He turned his attention back
to his power converter.
Marty crossed the room, heading for
the front door. He paused at the door
next to it, the one with five locks
on it, and tried the knob. It was
still locked. Big surprise, he
thought with some disappointment.
"Won't give up, will you, Marty?"
Professor Brown asked without turning
around.
Marty grinned. "One of these days
you're gonna leave this door open and
I'll find out what's in there."
Professor Brown glanced at him. "Did
you ever consider that some doors are
locked for a reason?"
"Nope. The way I figure it, doors are
made to be opened. See you after
school."
"Oh -- Marty -- what time did you say
it was?" Professor Brown asked.
Marty stopped in his tracks, a few
steps away from the stairs.
"Eight thirty."
"AM or PM?"
Marty rolled his eyes. "Pro, the
sun's out!"
"Oh, right, right," the Professor
said, glancing up at the skylights.
"Jeez," Marty continued, "for a guy
with a ton of clocks, you sure don't
pay much attention to time."
Professor Brown looked quickly at all
the synchronized clocks around the
room. "On the contrary," he said,
standing up and walking toward Marty.
"I may not pay much attention to the
measurement of time, but I'm very
aware of Time itself. I believe time
to be its own dimension...to be
controlled...to be contained...."
Marty ran down the stairs, having had
enough of the Professor's weird
ramblings. "Catch you later!" he
called over his shoulder.
Professor Brown continued to speak,
to the empty room walking to the
locked door. "...To be traveled
through," he finished softly. He
reached into his lab coat pocket and
pulled out some keys. One-by-one, the
Professor unlocked the locks on the
door. Finally, he opened it and
walked inside.
A tangle of equipment was in the
center of the room with a number of
lenses at the end of the maze. It
resembled nothing so much as a large
ray gun or laser. Professor Brown
stood back and admired it. "If only I
could harness enough power!" he said
wistfully.
* * * Marty opened the door at the
end of the stairs and stepped out on
the street before the Orpheum
Theater. The place had been abandon
years before, it's windows boarded
over. The marquee still spelled out
the last movie that had played there,
Assembly of Christ. Professor Brown
resided on the third floor of the
structure, the only person who used
the premises now.
Marty walked down the street, headed
for Wilson's Cafe. Parked a hundred
feet down the street was a black van.
The sign on it read "N.R.C." and two
men were carefully putting samples of
water from a gutter into little test
tubes. Marty glanced at them for a
moment, somewhat curious. They
ignored him. He reached the cafe and
went inside.
The owner, Dick Wilson, was sitting
behind the counter. Only thirty-five,
he already had lost more hair than
remained on his head. Even though he
was a good hundred pounds overweight,
he was eating a Babe Ruth candy bar
while reading a newspaper.
"Morning, Dick," Marty said, taking a
seat at the counter.
Dick set the candy bar down. "Marty.
What's for breakfast?"
"Gimme some chili, fries, and a Tab,"
he said, glancing down at the
newspaper lying on the counter.
"Hot tip," Dick explained as he
brought Marty his drink. "Rubber
Biscuit in the third race at
Arlington."
Marty nodded. "Dick, what's with
those guys out there in the gutter?"
he asked, tilting his head towards
the window.
Dick squinted out the window and
shrugged. "Third time they've been
out there this week."
Marty watched them for a moment,
loading up the water samples in the
van. "What's N.R.C.?"
Dick shrugged again. "I don't know.
National Cash Register?"
* * * Later that afternoon, Marty
stared at the textbook page in his
hand. It showed a photo of a mushroom
cloud with the words, "Last above
ground atomic test, March 18, 1952,
Atkins, Nevada." He took his pen and
wrote the letters "M.M + S.P." on the
cloud and drew and arrow through it,
like a valentine. He added at the
bottom, "How about the dance
Saturday? We'll have a BLAST!"
In the background his science
teacher, Mr. Arky, droned on with the
day's lecture. "There were only three
above ground Atomic Tests in the
United States, so the government took
every opportunity to study the
effects of radiation. Actual single
family tract homes were constructed
on the test site, totally furnished
with refrigerators, TV's,
furniture...."
What a waste of perfectly good stuff,
Marty thought.
"...Anything you could find in a
typical home," Mr. Arky continued,
"just so scientists could learn what
kind of damage an atomic bomb would
do to a typical town. They even put
mannequins in the houses, just like
in auto crash tests."
Marty tore the page with the picture
and note out of his book. He turned
to look at Suzy Parker, the pretty
alburn-haired girl across the aisle
and a seat behind him. He quickly
folded the page and winked at her
before tossing it deftly on her desk.
The teacher didn't notice.
"But the fact remains that today,
thirty years after those early
nuclear tests, the threat of nuclear
annihilation is as great as it ever
was. Certainly, nuclear annhiliation
is something you all must have
thought about. Any questions,
comments, ideas?"
No, Marty thought, glancing around.
Everyone in the class apparently
agreed with him.
"Anyone?" Mr. Arky asked. "I'm
talking about the complete and total
destruction of the entire world.
Doesn't anybody have anything to say
about it?"
No one raised a hand. Mr. Arky's face
began to turn red. "How about you,
Mr. Jackson?" he asked, raising his
voice. "Would you like to share some
of your wisdom with the class?"
Jackson didn't look up from the
textbook, ignoring the teacher. Marty
felt something brush against his foot
and looked down to see the folded
note that he had given Suzy on the
floor. He leaned over and scooped it
off the floor. Mr. Arky continued to
ask for volunteers.
"Mr. Gomez? Any thoughts? Miss
Parker? Mr. Crump, any reaction?"
Marty unfolded the note and looked at
it. Beside the cloud the words,
"That's sick!" had been written in
loopy cursive. Marty turned the page
over. On the back was the word,
"Yes." He smiled, then was rudely
snapped out of his thoughts by the
science teacher's irritating voice.
"How about you, Mr. McFly?" Arky
asked, strolling over to his desk.
Marty quickly crumpled the note and
shoved it in his pocket before the
teacher could see it. He stared at
his graffittied desk top, wishing Mr.
Arky would go away. "Did you even
hear the question, Mr. McFly?" the
teacher demanded, glowering at Marty.
Marty looked up, facing the
inevitable. He might as well give his
honest opinion. "Yeah," he answered.
"You want to know what I think about
atomic bombs. Well, I'd kind of like
to see one."
Mr. Arky leaned forward so his face
was a few inches from Marty's. "You'd
like to see a nuclear holocaust?" he
asked, his voice rising a few
octaves.
"Not a holocaust --" Marty began,
realizing his mistake.
Mr. Arky interrupted him. "Mr. McFly
here wants to nuke it all, just so he
can see it!" the teacher boomed out
to the class. A couple students
started to laugh.
Marty sat up straighter, glared at
the teacher. "You know damn well
that's not what I meant."
Mr. Arky ignored him. "All I can say
is, that's one helluva attitude, Mr.
McFly. 'Let's explode a hundred
megaton Geothermal nuclear device,
just to see it.' "
Marty felt his face turn red with
anger and embarrassment. "Yeah,
explode it up you ass," he muttered
under his breath.
"Unfortunately," Mr. Arky continued,
a malicious smile on his face, "the
way things are going, you may get
your wish. You may see the entire
annhiliation of the world. If not,
you'll certainly see the destruction
of all out natural resources. We can
already see the air we breathe, not
to mention the pollution in our
rivers and lakes. We'll see all of
our oil reserves depleted, in fact,
all of our energy sources. Yes, you
people have a lot to look forward to
-- a lot to see."
"Hey, Mr. Arky, gimme a break!" Marty
exclaimed, rolling his eyes. "I'm
seventeen years old! I'm not
responsible for all these problems!"
The anger in Mr. Arky's face suddenly
vanished. He sighed, a sound of
defeat. "No, of course you're not.
Not for the problems, no. But for the
solutions...yes."
The bell rang, ending the school day.
Everyone leaped out of their desks
and rushed for the door. " See you
tomorrow," the teacher added.
Ten minutes later, Marty was outside
at the front of school, heading for a
group of his friends, who were
already giving other students
videotapes in return for cash.
"Hey Marty," Rafe Newton called to
him, heading his way. "Sport me fifty
'til the weekend, would ya? I'm down
to my last twenty."
Marty shook his head. "Can't man. I'm
savin' up for that new amp."
"Well, when you're a big rock star,
how about loanin' me a grand?"
"You got it!" Marty grinned. He
checked his watch. "I gotta go."
Donaldson, one of his friends, stood
next to him. He looked at Marty's
watch. "Hey man, what happened to
your digital quartz?" he asked.
"In the shop," Marty explained. "So
I'm sporting this antique." He lifted
up his left hand with the watch on
it. "Check out this wind-up action,"
he added, pointing to the gold
timepiece. Donaldson looked at it
with minor interest as the both of
them went down the front steps of the
school.
"Hey, you wanna come over?" Donaldson
asked when they were at the bottom of
the steps. "Get high?"
"Maybe tomorrow. I gotta dupe some
more tapes."
Donaldson snapped his fingers. "Hey,
that reminds me -- my brother's
gettin' married next week and I'm
throwin' a party for him. Can you
provide some entertainment?"
Marty nodded, having the perfect
thing in mind. "Yeah, I can run
something off this afternoon," he
promised.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Two
The man and woman were really going
at it now, breathing hard and
moaning. Typical sounds of sex. Marty
watched for a moment, then shook his
head and turned away from the porno
video he was copying for his friend.
Twisting the volume down as the
couple started to get really noisy,
he fished some cash out of his pocket
and placed it in the cigar box where
he was storing all the money he was
saving to use for that new amp. He
got up from his chair and walked out
of the room into Professor Brown's
lab.
The Professor was lying on his cot,
asleep, with a heavy blanket covering
him. Marty walked quietly over to the
refrigerator and opened it, taking
out a bottle of Coke. As he was
pulling the soft drink out, his hand
accidentally bumped against an orange
lying beside it. Before he had a
chance to catch it, it bounced out of
the fridge and rolled across the
floor, vanishing under the cot.
Marty set down the Coke on top of the
fridge and bent down to picked the
orange up. He pushed aside the
blanket and saw a crate, purple
radioactive emblems on it. Marty
frowned as he read the labels.
Extreme Danger! Radioactive
Plutonium! Authorized Personal Only!
Do Not Handle Without Radiation Suit.
Near the bottom were the words,
"Property of San Onofre Nuclear Power
Plant, San Onofre, California."
Right next to the word "California"
was the orange. Taking a deep breath,
Marty stood up and kicked the orange
out from under the cot with his right
foot. He slowly backed away, his eyes
on the crate, before picking the
orange up and tossing it into the
trash can next to the refrigerator.
Marty glanced at the Professor,
relieved to see that he hadn't woken
up.
Trying to forget what he had seen,
Marty picked the Coke bottle up and
twisted the cap off, taking a quick
swig from it before walking over to a
cage with an organ-grinder monkey in
it.
"Hey, Shemp," he called softly. "How
ya doin'?"
The monkey gazed back at him with
dark eyes. Marty unlatched the cage
door and let the animal out. Shemp
quickly climbed up his arm and sat on
his shoulder. Marty crossed the room,
over to the table where the power
converter was still set up, resting
on some old blueprints. He leaned
over for a closer look at those.
The top blueprint was for something
called, "Photo-Electric Chemical
Power Converter." The sketch on the
blueprint matched the power converter
that the Professor had been messing
with earlier. Marty flipped that
blueprint back to look at the others
one-by-one. "15 Tube Mechanical Home
Butler." It looked like some kind of
robot. "Aero-Mobile," a weird-looking
flying car. And a "Write-O-Matic,"
which looked like a pen with a
suction cup at the end of an attached
wire.
Marty let the blueprints flip back
and stared at the power onverter. The
last few rays of the afternoon
sunlight filtered through the
skylight and shone down on the photo-
cell. Marty looked closer and noticed
a funnel shaped thingy jutting out of
the chemical chamber. He looked at it
for a moment, temptation building,
then reached over and poured some of
the Coke in the funnel.
He hadn't even pulled his arm back
when a bright spark shot out of the
opposite end of the device, making a
loud cracking noise. Marty jumped
several feet away, his heart
pounding, almost dropping the bottle
in his hand.
"What happened?!" he heard Professor
Brown demand, jumping out of his bed
and running over to the table where
the power converter sat.
"Well, I'm not sure exactly -- I
accidentally spilled some Coke in
here," Marty said, stretching the
truth a little. He pointed to the
funnel. "Just a drop!"
The Professor quickly hooked up the
voltmeter and light bulb to the
converter. "Give me that!" he added,
snatching the bottle from Marty's
hands. He poured some more of the
drink into the funnel. The bulb
started glowing brightly and the
meter jumped. The whole thing started
to make a humming noise. Professor
Brown dumped in more Coke. The light
grew even brighter, then suddenly
exploded!
Marty flinched, but didn't turn away.
He was dying to know what that thing
was supposed to be doing. He wanted
to know almost as bad as he wanted to
get into that locked room several
feet away. The voltmeters needle
raised off the scale as the power
converter began to vibrate, so
violently that it fell off the table!
The Professor stared at the floor
where the converter lay, his hands
starting to tremble. He had a strange
look on his face, disbelief mixed
with excitement. He looked carefully
at the Coke bottle.
"What's in this stuff?"
Marty gave a shrug, not understanding
why Professor Brown wanted to know.
"Nobody knows the formula for Coca-
Cola. It's the most closely guarded
secret in the world!"
The Professor was silent for a
moment, his gaze far away. He finally
picked the power converter up and
walked across the room, taking out a
key ring from his pocket. "I'll see
you tomorrow," he said as he began to
unlock the forbidden door. Before
Marty could ask him any questions,
the Professor opened the door and
shut it firmly behind him. Marty
heard the sound of locks clicking
into place, then all was silent.
* * * That evening, wearing
headphones plugged into his
turntable, Marty walked around his
bedroom, following the music on his
own electric guitar. Posters of rock
stars covered the surrounding walls.
He was trying to find the drill he
had been using earlier, moving the
miscellaneous junk that covered his
furniture and floor with the top of
the guitar's neck. Under the Rolling
Stone on the dresser were some tools
-- but not the drill. A couple issues
of Heavy Metal and the Lampoon hid
some homework on the desk he had
forgotten to turn in.
The record ended and Marty took the
headphones off. "Who stole my drill?"
he yelled out the door.
"Dinner's ready!" his mom answered.
With a sigh, Marty set his guitar
down and went downstairs. He stopped
in the living room on the way to the
kitchen. His father, George McFly,
was sitting on the couch and watching
a boxing match on the TV.
"Anybody seen the drill?" Marty
asked. Dad continued to stare at the
TV, ignoring or not hearing the
question. Eileen McFly looked into
the living room from the kitchen.
"I've been calling you for five
minutes!" she said to Marty. "Didn't
you hear me?"
"I was practicing," Marty said with a
shrug. "I've got an audition next
week -- I gotta practice. How am I
gonna get famous if I don't
practice?"
Mom shook her head. Once, a long time
ago, she had been quite attractive.
Now, at the age of 47, it was easy to
see the toll age had taken. Her brown
hair was streaked with grey and her
face was puffy, lined with wrinkles.
Both of Marty's parents hadn't aged
that gracefully. "You won't get
famous if you don't eat, either," she
said, ducking back into the kitchen.
Marty turned back to his dad. "Dad,
you seen the drill?"
"What drill?" his father finally
said.
"The drill!" Marty repeated,
exasperated. "The power drill I
bought you for Christmas. I was using
it last night."
Dad didn't move his gaze from the TV.
"It'll turn up."
Marty shook his head and went into
the kitchen, sitting down as his
mother put the food on the table. She
leaned back into the living room.
"George, dinner's ready!" she called.
Marty's father continued to stare at
the TV, fully absorbed in the boxing
match. "Coming, Eileen," he said,
making no move to get up.
"Now, George," Mom insisted.
"Dinner's ready now."
"Coming, Eileen," Dad repeated. A
moment later a commercial came on the
TV and George McFly finally got up
and started to roll the TV on it's
stand to the dining room.
"How was school today?" Marty's mom
asked him.
"Fine," he answered automatically.
"Learn anything?"
"Oh yeah."
Mom smiled. "That's good."
His dad finished adjusting the TV and
sat down. "How was school today?" he
asked Marty, picking up a fork and
starting to eat.
Hadn't he just done this? "Fine,"
Marty said.
"Learn anything?"
"Oh yeah."
"Good."
Dad turned his eyes back to the TV as
the match resumed. Marty looked down
at the newspaper, examining the
sports scores, and his mom stared off
into space. There was complete
silence, during which the
sportscaster did his blow-by- blow on
the TV.
Eventually Mom spoke, during another
commercial break. "By the way, that
reminds me," she said, gesturing to
the TV's burger ad. "Saturday night
we're taking Grandma Stella out for
Chinese food."
"Eileen, Chinese food again?" Dad
groaned.
Mom frowned. "George, if you don't
want Chinese food, pick a place you
want to go and make a reservation."
"That means he'll have to pick up the
phone, Ma," Marty interjected. As
expected, his dad backed down.
"No, Chinese food is fine."
"Saturday night's the 'Springtime in
Paris' dance," Marty added. "I'm
taking Suzy Parker."
His mother looked thoughtful. "The
'Springtime in Paris' dance. You hear
that, George? They're still having
the 'Springtime in Paris' dance.
"That was our first date," she
explained to Marty. "Remember George?
I remember everything about that
night. Remember the first time we
kissed? It was during the last dance.
They were playing that Eddie Fisher
song, 'Turn Back the Hands of Time'.
I even remember how you asked me out.
We were in the cafeteria. You were so
scared, you spilled your creamed
corn."
Dad continued to look at the TV, not
showing any sign of hearing his wife.
"And I probably won't be here when
you wake up Sunday morning," Marty
continued. "Suzy and I are gonna go
down to the lake and watch the sun
rise." His dad looked away long
enough from the TV to frown at him.
"The sun rise? What for?"
Jeez, what did he think? "To see it,"
Marty explained patiently. His dad
turned away to the TV, the look on
his face puzzled. Unfortunately, his
mom was not as easily distracted.
"You mean you're going to stay up all
night?"
"Mom, how else are we gonna see the
sunrise?"
"I don't think I like the idea of you
staying out all night with a girl,"
Mom decided, shaking her head firmly.
Marty rolled his eyes. "Hey, Ma,
gimme a break."
Before they could discuss the subject
any further, there was a heavy
pounding on the back door. "Would you
answer that, George?" Eileen asked
when no one else made a move to. Her
husband ignored her. Heaving a sigh,
Marty finally stood up to answer it.
The visitor was not one of his
favorite people. Biff Tannen stood on
the porch, his stomach hanging over
the pants in his security guard
uniform. His shirt was untucked and
the tie was undone. The patch on his
shoulder read "Special Security
Officer." He was a 47-year-old jerk
who liked to push his father around
and Marty had no need for him
whatsoever. Biff felt the same way
about him.
"Well, well," he smirked when Marty
opened the door. "If it isn't the
neighborhood bootlegger, Al Capone
McFly?"
"What do you want, Biff?" Marty
demanded, wanting to end this little
visit as soon as possible.
"Show me some respect, you little A-
hole," Biff growled. "It's Special
Officer Tannen to you."
The day I show respect to Biff Tannen
will be the day I win a million
dollars, Marty thought. "What's the
matter, Biff, they're not showing you
any respect down at the golf course?
Don't they realize what a tough job
it is keeping the criminal element
away from the country club?"
Biff scowled at him. "Listen you
little A-hole, I oughta --"
"What do you want, Biff?" Marty
repeated, tiring fast of the
conversation.
"Where's your old man?"
Marty took a step back and pointed
over his shoulder to the kitchen.
Biff pushed his way into the house
and Marty saw he had a broken power
drill and some bits in hand. He
suddenly felt sick.
"Hey McFly, what's with this cheap-
ass drill you're giving me?" he
demanded. "Thing burned up first time
I used it! Almost ruined my whole
engine block!"
Marty shook his head in disgust as he
sat down again at the table. His dad
immediately turned away from the TV.
"Uh -- Biff," he stammered, pointing
to the bits. "These are wood bits.
Says so right here. You're not
supposed to use them on your engine
block."
Biff snorted. "Look, McFly, I know a
lot about tools. This is a cheep-ass
drill! You're just lucky I didn't
ruin my engine block. Next time you
buy tools, let me know. I'll help you
pick out some good ones."
He handed George the drill, then
added, "Oh -- and one more thing. My
kid's selling Girl Scout cookies. I
told her you were good for four
boxes." Biff glared at Marty's dad.
"Don't make me a liar!"
George nodded quickly and Biff left,
slamming the door behind him. George
turned to look at his wife, who gave
at him a knowing, sympathetic look.
"How do you like that guy, using wood
bits on an engine block?" he finally
asked, laughing nervously.
Marty couldn't take it anymore. He
jumped up from the table and ran into
the living room, grabbing his silver
Porsche jacket out of the closet.
"Where are you going?" he heard his
mom yell.
Marty opened the front door and
slammed it shut in reply. He pulled
his jacket on as he crossed the front
lawn. Reaching the mailbox, he gave
the numbers on it, 777, a good slug,
then kicked his dad's car beside it
in the street for good measure.
Half an hour later, he was walking
down a neighborhood street with Suzy
Parker. "....He just lets himself get
pushed around all the time," Marty
was saying to her, talking about his
father. "People walk all over him and
he never fights back, never stands up
for himself."
"No self confidence, I guess," Suzy
said sympathetically. "At least you
don't take after him."
"Yeah," Marty agreed. "Jesus! I
wonder how he ever got up enough
nerve to marry my mom."
Suzy didn't say anything for a few
moments. "Can you imagine your
parents in bed together?" she finally
asked.
Marty laughed. "No way!"
"Me neither," Suzy said, smiling.
"I've always wondered whether they
slept together before they got
married. You think yours did?"
"Hell no!" Marty cried, shaking his
head. "The way my mom carries on
about sex -- you even mention the
word and she goes into cardiac
arrest. You shoulda seen her face
when I told her we were gonna stay up
all night Saturday," he added.
"Always afraid something is going to
happen."
Suzy looked at him, her expression
suddenly coy. " Is something going to
happen Saturday night?" she asked
slyly.
Before Marty could answer her, a
skateboard suddenly hit his foot. He
looked up to see two kids about fifty
feet down the street, running an
obstacle course. The one who had been
on the board was slowly getting to
his feet off the asphalt. Marty
jumped on the board and skated over
to the kid. Maybe it was because Suzy
was there, but he showed off as he
weaved through the obstacle, jumping
over the last one and landing
perfectly, then flipping the board
into the air and catching it. The
kids were wide-eyed as Marty handed
it to the owner.
"Wow, you're good!" the kid gushed,
staring at the board. Marty grinned
and walked back over to an impressed
Suzy.
"Just like riding a bike -- you never
forget how to do it," he explained
modestly.
A minute later they were standing in
front of Suzy's house. "Well..." she
said slowly. "Here we are..."
They stared at each other for a
moment. "Thanks," Marty said softly,
leaning forward and kissing her.
Suzy smiled and walked to her door.
"See you later," she called. Marty
watched her as she stepped inside,
then turned around and started to
walk back home.
A black sedan slowly passed him. A
moment later, Marty noticed
headlights shining from behind him
and whirled around to see that the
black sedan had turned around and
seemed to be following him. Marty saw
the car had the letters N.R.C. on it,
like that van had. He stepped to the
side of the street, on the sidewalk,
and the car pulled up beside him and
stopped. Two tall men dressed in
black suits got out. They looked like
Secret Service men.
"Good evening," one said. "Agents
Reese and Foley," -- he pointed to
his buddy -- "from the Nuclear
Regulatory Commition." He pulled out
his ID and flashed it to Marty. "Mind
stepping over here?"
Marty eyed them cautiously before
doing so. "What's this all about?" he
wanted to know.
"Routine radiation check," the other
man -- Agent Foley -- said. He took a
Geiger counter from the car and ran
it up and down Marty's body. Nothing
happened until it got by his feet,
especially his right foot. Then it
made loud clicking noises. The two
men exchanged some kind of look.
"Have you got any identification?"
Reese demanded. Marty handed him his
wallet after a moment's hesitation.
"What, am I radioactive or
something?" he asked uneasily, trying
to figure out what was going on.
Foley shook his head. "No, no, not
beyond an acceptable level." "Have
you been X-rayed recently, Martin?"
Reese asked, his eyes on Marty's
driver's license.
"Perhaps been in contact with some
luminous paint?" Foley added.
Marty frowned at them. "No..."
"Been any place unusual in the past
twelve hours?" Reese questioned.
"Home, school, here," Marty answered
with a shrug.
"Been in the vicinity of 2980 Monroe
Avenue today?" asked Foley.
"Where?"
"Over by the old Orpheum Theater,"
Reese said.
Marty hesitated for a moment before
answering. They were talking about
where Professor Brown lived. He
remembered the box he had seen under
the bed. Suddenly, Marty had a
million questions for the Professor.
"No," he said.
Reese finally handed him back his
wallet. "Okay, Martin. You have a
good evening now."
"Yeah," Marty said, jamming his
wallet back into his pocket. "Right."
The two men got back into their car
and drove off. Marty watched them a
moment, then sprinted the other way
down the street!
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Three
Marty ran through the streets all the
way to the Orpheum Theater. The
street was deserted, save for a
newspaper blowing down in the gutter.
Reaching the door to the upstairs of
the dilapidated building, Marty took
hold of the knob and turned it. It
resisted and he tried again, hoping
it was stuck. He juggled it around
but it didn't budge. No doubt about
it. It was locked. Marty took a step
back and looked up, at the third
floor.
A moment later the quiet of the night
was shattered by all three of the
third floor windows being blown out
by a huge gush of air! "Jesus!" Marty
gasped, ducking his head as shreds of
glass rained down. A moment later he
tried the door again, but it was
still locked.
After weighing the pros and cons of
the matter, Marty broke the glass
window in the door and reached around
to unlock it himself. Once inside, he
ran up the steps to the lab. The
first thing he noticed was that the
mysterious door with all the locks
was completely un locked! A crack of
light shone brightly under the bottom
of the door. Marty opened it up and
stepped inside. He blinked, wondering
if he was seeing right.
Professor Brown was standing next to
what looked like a old furnace and
hot water heater thrown together with
some boiler room parts. He had one
hand on a rope attached to a metal
lever and was messing with some dials
and gauges with the other hand.
Shemp, wearing his organ grinder
outfit, sat on a stool, a digital
watch on a cord around his neck. Some
kind of long tube with lenses in it
was pointed at him.
"Professor!" Marty gasped. The
Professor looked up, startled.
"Get behind that lead shield!" he
ordered, pointing to a large grey
sheet of metal next to the wall.
Marty stared at him incredulously.
"But Professor --"
"Get behind the shield!" Professor
Brown broke in, cutting off Marty.
"I'm about to release radiation!"
Marty looked at him for a moment
more, then darted behind the shield.
He watched from around the side of it
as the Professor pulled the rope a
tiny bit. The next moment, all hell
broke loose! The low hum all the
machinery made grew louder and high
pitched. Static electricity crackled
in the air. The sounds grew louder
and the monkey looked around,
curious. A minute later, the
Professor let go of the rope, his
eyes on a watch, and a red beam of
light -- like a laser -- hit Shemp
directly in the chest.
Marty winced at the high pitched
noise in the room. Less then a second
after the laser -- or whatever it was
-- hit the Professor's pet, Shemp
vanished, taking the top of the stool
with him! Air suddenly rushed into
the room, whipping loose papers
around. The noise died down and Marty
stepped out from behind the shield,
his heart pounding from all he had
witnessed.
"Jesus!!" he exclaimed, staring at
the Professor in shock. "Professor,
you just disintegrated Shemp!"
Professor Brown shook his head, a
smile playing around his lips. "No,
Marty. Shemp's molecular structure is
completely intact."
How can he just stand there, so calm?
"Then where is he?" Marty demanded.
"The appropriate question to ask is
when is he," the Professor correct
him. "You see, Shemp has just become
the world's first time traveller.
I've sent Shemp into the future --
two minutes into the future to be
exact."
Marty's mouth dropped open. "The
future? What are you talking about?
Where's Shemp?!"
"Shemp is right here in this
room...two minutes from now," the
Professor explained calmly. "And at
exactly 9:02PM, we'll catch up to
him."
"Now hold on a minute, Professor,"
Marty said slowly, trying to
understand this. "Hold the phone. Are
you trying to tell me that this --
all of this here -- that this is --
it's a -- a --" For some reason, he
couldn't get the words out.
"A time machine," Professor Brown
confirmed with a nod.
Marty found a chair and sat down in
it quickly before his legs could give
out on him.
"I always knew it would work," the
Professor continued. "I knew it would
work when I built it thirty three
years ago. But I was never able to
harness enough power to test it.
Power is the key. Massive amounts of
energy to accelerate matter to the
speed of light while creating an
intense gravitational field. But
generating that kind of energy has
never been possible...until this
afternoon."
Marty took a couple of deep breaths
as he waited for the room to stop
spinning around him. A time machine!
"Because of that Coke," he muttered.
"Precisely," the Professor said with
a nod. He walked around the room,
pointing out various parts of the
machinery as explained. "The power
converter, now operating at peak
efficiency, thanks to the chemical
makeup of Coca-Cola, channels energy
into the flux capacitor, which
releases several jigowatts in a
fraction of a millisecond. Electron
acceleration takes place here...and
the result is the temporal
displacement beam you saw a few
moments ago. The entire process is
triggered when I release the rope."
Marty finally stood, his legs still
shaking a little from the shock. "I
thought that power converter thing
operated on solar energy. There's no
sun," he added, pointing to the
ceiling and walls. Not only was it
night out, but all the windows had
heavy shades drawn over them.
"Solar energy would have worked just
fine...if I could have placed the
converter about a mile from the
surface of the sun. Instead, I've
created similar conditions in this
reactor here," Professor Brown
explained, pointing to the rope. "The
higher I raise the cadmium rods, the
more energy I release from the
plutonium core, and the further
through time I can send an object."
Marty snapped his fingers, suddenly
remembering. "The plutonium! That's
what I came over here for! Professor,
where did you get that stuff?"
"Why?" The inventor stared at him
with suspicious, his eyes narrowed.
"I just got stopped in the street by
federal agents checking me for
radiation! I figure they're after
your plutonium!"
Professor Brown looked over at a
digital clock on the wall. Marty
followed his gaze and saw that it was
9:01:50. Almost two minute had passed
since the experiment. It had felt
like twice that long.
"Ten seconds!" the Professor burst
out, dashing over to the place where
his beam had hit Shemp. Marty ran
after him, stopping when his friend
raised an arm. "Brace yourself for a
sudden displacement of air!"
Marty watched the clock. The seconds
lasted forever. 9:01:55...56...57...
58...59...
At that moment, a strong wind gusted
in the room and Shemp suddenly
appeared, literally out of thin air.
The top of the stool came back with
him and fell to the ground. The
monkey screeched as he hit the ground
and scrambled onto some equipment
nearby.
"Shemp!" Marty cried. Professor Brown
walked calmly over to the animal and
picked him up. He quickly looked him
over, the monkey squirming to get
free, then examined the watch around
his neck. He held it up for Marty to
see. 9:00:10. Marty checked the clock
on the wall. 9:02:10.
"Exactly two minutes difference...and
it's still ticking!" the Professor
cried triumphantly.
"Is Shemp all right?" Marty asked,
looking at the monkey. Professor
Brown set him down on the ground he
quickly ran off to the other side of
the room.
"Of course. Shemp is unaware that
anything even happened, other than
his stool suddenly falling over. We
had to wait two minutes to catch up
to him, but for Shemp the trip was
instantaneous."
Marty suddenly realized something.
"Professor, can this thing send Shemp
back in time?"
The Professor thought about that for
a moment. "Theoretically, yes, if I
were to reverse the polarity." He
pointed to a switch near the rope
with a plus and minus at opposite
ends. It was currently up in the plus
position.
"Jeez, Professor, you've got a gold
mine here!" Marty exclaimed, grinning
with excitement.
The Professor frowned, as if he
didn't understand. "A gold mine?"
"Sure!" Marty said. "Listen -- we
take the racing results from today's
paper...." He grabbed an newspaper
from earlier that day at a nearby
table and quickly flipped through to
the sports scores. "Here they are. We
send 'em with Shemp back to
yesterday, we get the information,
put our money on the winning horses,
and become billionaires!"
Professor Brown started to shake his
head. "Marty, that would alter
history.
" "So what?" Marty asked. We'd be
rich!
"Don't you understand? The mere act
of sending matter back in time would
change the course of events, and
changing history is a responsibility
that I do not wish to bear," the
Professor said.
Marty sighed, lowering the paper.
"All I know is you're throwing away
an awful lot of money."
"The future, Marty, the future is
everything," Professor Brown said,
his eyes sparkling. "I built this
machine to see the future. So I am
going to send Shemp twenty-four hours
into the future. You can assist me,
if you like."
"Sure," he agreed quickly.
The Professor left the room for a
moment, saying something about a
cassette recorder. Marty waited for a
second, then quickly ripped the
racing results off the sports page
and circled the date with a pen that
had been in his pocket. He went over
to Shemp, stuffed the clipping in the
pocket on his vest, then glanced out
the door. The Professor was rifling
through the papers on his desk, his
back to the door. Marty rushed over
to the polarity switch and yanked the
lever to the minus sign. A couple
seconds later, Professor Brown
returned, a Micro-cassette recorder
in hand. He locked the door, then
handed the recorded to Marty.
"Take this, stand at the panel," he
said, pointing to a wall of switches
near the beam, "and read off the
radiation levels. I want to have a
record of what happens here. Be sure
to tell me when we reach 85 rads."
Marty nodded and stepped over to the
panel. Right before him was a meter
with the rads levels. He had his eyes
on it as Professor Brown fixed the
stool a few feet away. "Come on,
Shemp, this won't hurt a bit," the
Professor murmured as he picked up
the monkey and placed him on the
stool again. After doing that, he
returned to the rope switch, across
the room from where Marty stood and
on the other side of Shemp. Marty
watched him carefully, but he didn't
seem to notice the lever at the minus
sign.
"Here we go," the Professor warned,
throwing a few switches. The
equipment started humming again and
Professor Brown slowly reached for
the rope and started tugging on it.
"Radiation level, 10 rads," Marty
said looking at the meter, holding
the microphone in the recorder up to
his mouth as he spoke. "Stabilization
coefficient, .43. 16 rads;
coefficient .44. 37 rads, .46. 51
rads, .46. 73 rads, .47..."
Marty heard a loud noise from behind
him and spun around to see the locked
door kicked open. The dust hadn't
even cleared before Marty realized it
was the N.R.C. agents, Reese and
Foley. Behind them he saw a huge
throng of police and other official
people. The agents jumped into the
room with .38 guns drawn.
"Everybody freeze!" Reese shouted,
his eyes darting around the room.
"N.R.C.!"
"Get back!" Professor Brown cried,
waving his left hand. The other one
was still holding onto the rope.
"Jesus Christ!" Foley yelled, seeing
the machine the Professor was
standing besides. "It's a Goddamn
reactor!"
Reese pointed his gun at Professor
Brown. "You! Shut it down! Now!"
Marty stared at the whole scene,
mouth hanging open. He felt strangely
detached from it, almost as if it was
a play or a scene in a movie he was
watching. The microphone fell from
his hand, dangling on it's cord
around his feet.
"No!" Professor Brown exclaimed, his
eyes wide and frantic. "Get out! I'm
in the middle of an experiment!" He
moved closer to the reactor, pulling
the rope tighter as he did so.
Foley didn't hesitate. He swung his
gun at the Professor and squeezed the
trigger. The loud bang echoed in the
room. Shemp screeched and leaped off
the stool. Marty watched, horrified,
as the bullet hit his friend right in
the chest. The Professor staggered
back, hand still clenched around the
rope. He fell backwards to the floor,
the rope pulling taut as he landed.
"Professor!" Marty yelled, finally
finding his voice. He whipped his
head to check the meter. "Oh my God!
Release the rope! It's 4200 rads!"
Reese stared at him, shaking his
head. It was too noisy in the room
for Marty to be heard. "What?!" he
called.
"Release the rope!" Marty screamed at
him. It was so noisy he could hardly
hear his own voice! Reese shook his
head again. Marty started for the
Professor himself. Foley turned the
gun on him.
"Freeze!" he commanded, his mouth set
in a firm line.
Marty stopped, standing right before
the stool where Shemp had once been.
He raised his hands, showing he
didn't have anything on him. The
recorder and microphone was now in
his jacket pocket. He couldn't
remember putting it there with all
the excitement.
Marty's eyes darted over to the
Professor. As he watched, the
Professor's grip suddenly relaxed and
the rope swung loosely in the air.
Marty suddenly realized he was right
in the line of the focusing lense. A
bright white light shot out from it
and hit him square in the chest.
Marty looked down at it for a moment,
a little curiously, then looked up at
the people in the room. Reese and
Foley stared at him, startled looks
on there faces.
Suddenly the whole room turned
bright, blinding white, like a
million cameras flashing at once.
Then, less then a second later,
everything was plunged into a deep,
black silence.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Four
"Professor?" Marty asked, straining
his eyes in the darkness, trying to
see something, anything. But
everything was completely and utterly
black. "Hello?" he called, listening
hard for any sound.
After a moment, Marty reached into
his pocket and pulled out a
matchbook. He ripped a match free and
struck it against the sandpaper.
Marty held it up as it lit, looking
around the room. It looked like he
was in some kind of storeroom. Marty
took a step forward, almost running
into an old broken chair. He dodged
it last minute and strolled slowly
around the room, trying to figure out
where the hell he was. Dusty
furniture and crates littered the
room.
The match was starting to burn
Marty's fingers and he dropped it,
fumbling to light another. He walked
towards the door, having the nagging
feeling that something was strangely
out of place. Where the hell am I? he
wondered. Marty reached for the
doorknob and tried turning it.
Locked.
"Damn!" he hissed, looking around for
a way out. Marty spotted a window and
went over to it, holding his breath
as he tried to slide it open. It slid
and he carefully climbed outside on
to a fire escape. He scrambled down
the unstable structure and dropped to
the alley below.
Just as his feet scraped the
pavement, Marty noticed a pair of
headlights approaching him, fast. He
stood there for a minute, frozen in
the beams, then jumped back and
pressed himself against the wall of
the building. The truck sped by,
missing him by inches!
Marty let out a loud sigh of relief
as he watched the truck drive off,
then noticed the sign on the door
that he was right next to. "Wilson's
Cafe, Rear Entrance," it said. Marty
tried the door, expecting it to be
locked. But the knob turned freely in
his hand. Strange. For as long as he
could remember the back door had been
locked.
Marty stepped inside. "Hey, since
when are you open at..." he started
to say, then stopped when he got a
good look around. It couldn't be
Wilson's Cafe!
Everything in the room looked brand
new...but at the same time, old. Dick
wasn't behind the counter; a women of
maybe thirty was. Marty looked up at
the menu and gasped. Since when were
roast beef sandwiches 30 cents, and
an ice cream sunday 15 cents? He tore
his eyes off the prices long enough
to notice the people. Boy, did he
notice them! All the men were in
double-breasted suits, with hats. And
not baseball caps, either! Marty
noticed all the women were in skirts
-- long skirts. Not one was in any
type of pants, like jeans. And the
way people had their hair done....
Those styles went out ages ago!
A chubby five-year-old boy, dressed
in pajamas, was playing on the floor
with some trucks. Marty almost
tripped over him as he walked slowly
around, his mouth open with
amazement, gazing at everything.
After a moment he realized the woman
behind the counter was staring at
him, a suspicious look on her face.
"You want something, kid?" she asked,
leaning forward across the counter.
Marty hesitated for a moment, then
sat down. He decided he needed to
blend in as much as he could. The
silver Porsche jacket alone that he
had on was causing way too many
stares. "Uh, yeah..." he said slowly.
"Gimme a Tab."
"What?" the waitress asked, frowning.
"A Tab," Marty repeated.
The waitress rolled her eyes. "Kid, I
can't give you the tab until you
order something."
Marty tried to ignore the stares
everyone was giving him and looked
down at the counter. He saw the man
beside him had a cup of coffee.
"Uh, coffee," he told the waitress.
She reached over and poured him a
cup.
"Did something happen to you, kid?"
she wondered. "I mean, you been lost
in the woods or something?"
Marty looked at her blankly. "Huh?"
He noticed a bowl of sugar cubes on
the counter and added, "Say, have you
got any Sweet 'N Low?"
The waitress stared at him. "Sweet
and what?" She suddenly lifted the
cup of coffee away from him. "Maybe
you'd better pay for this first."
"Sure," Marty said with a shrug. He
reached for his wallet and took out a
twenty dollar bill, holding it out to
the waitress. Her eyes bugged out and
her mouth dropped open.
"A twenty? What do you think this is,
a bank? I can't break a twenty!" Her
eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Say,
what's a kid your age doing with all
this money?"
Marty quickly stuffed the bill back
in his wallet. Now everyone in the
cafe was staring at him. "Look, maybe
I'd better talk to Dick," he said to
the woman. "Is he around?"<
"Dick?" the waitress asked. "Dick
who?"
Now who's being stupid? "The guy who
runs this place."
" I run this place!" the woman said
sharply, her eyes once again
narrowed. "What happened to Dick
Wilson?" Marty asked, confused.
"Dick Wilson," the waitress repeated.
"Dickie Wilson?" She chuckled.
"Dickie Wilson runs this place?
That's a laugh!"
Marty felt his face redden as
everyone in the room started to laugh
with the waitress. "What are you
trying to do?" he asked angrily.
"Freak me out, or something?"
"Freak?" the man with the coffee
asked. "Are you from some circus? Is
that what all that writing on your
clothes means?"
Haven't you ever heard of designer
labels? Marty wondered, glaring at
him. He heard soft footsteps from
behind the counter and saw the little
five-year-old run up to the woman.
"Mommy, I'm hungry," he whined.
The waitress smiled. "Just take a
candy bar, then go to bed, Dickie,"
she cooed.
Marty did a double take. "Dickie?" he
said incredulously. "That's Dick
Wilson?"
The waitress nodded. "That's Dick
Wilson," she confirmed.
Marty watched the kid grab a Babe
Ruth of the candy counter and scamper
off. He was about to turn away from
the sight when he noticed a calendar
behind the cash register. A calendar
that had the number "1952" in big
black letters.
"1952?" Marty repeated aloud, his
voice rising. "This is 1952?! Holy
shit! You know what this means? I've
gone back in time thirty years!
Thirty Goddamn years! I haven't even
been born yet!"
The waitress took one look at him and
reached for a phone. "I'm calling the
cops."
Marty jumped off the stool and ran
out the front door, stopping dead in
the middle of the street. Everything
had changed!
Monroe Avenue, once full of old,
rotting buildings, was now a
bustling, thriving business district!
Cars from the '40's and '50's ran up
and down the streets. People were
everywhere, walking along the
streets, stopping in the shops. Marty
was so shocked to see what he was
seeing he didn't notice the strange,
suspicious looks the towspeople were
flashing at him, or the drivers
honking at him as they swerved to
avoid hitting him.
He turned and noticed the Orpheum
Theater. It, too, had changed! Boy,
had it! The marquee was lit up with
the words: "John Wayne, Maureen
O'Hara -- The Quiet Man. In Full
Color!" People streamed into it and
from the looks of the place, it was a
first class movie theater.
"Dammit!" Marty exclaimed, shaking
his head in shock. He noticed a man
walking by with a newspaper in hand.
Marty ran over to him and snatched
the paper away, ignoring the owner's
protest as he scanned the front page
for the date. March 11, 1952.
"1952!" he cried. "Dammit!" Marty
threw the paper down on the sidewalk
and ran down the street. He stopped
beside an old car and checked out the
license plate. Besides the fact it
looked nothing like the plates he was
used to, it also said --
"1952! Dammit," he swore again. Marty
ran off again, noticing a phone
booth. It was empty, so he stopped
inside and grabbed the phone book. He
frantically riffled through the
pages, to the listings of Browns.
After a minute, he located it and ran
his finger down the column to:
"Brown, Emmett L., 788 W. Spruce.
Madison 3489." Marty pulled the Bic
pen out from his pocket and circled
the line. Then he reached into his
pocket again and pulled out all the
change he had. One nickel and three
pennies.
"Dammit!" he muttered. Marty picked
up the receiver anyway and dialed
zero.
"Operator," a woman's voice said
after a moment.
"Operator! Listen, this is an
emergency!" Marty said urgently. "I
have to make this call, but I don't
have a dime -- all I got is a nickel
-- but you gotta connect me --"
"Sir," the operator said calmly,
interrupting Marty's speech. "It only
costs a nickel."
"What?" he asked, not sure if he had
heard correctly.
"Local calls cost five cents," the
operator repeated. "What number do
you want?"
Marty looked up and saw the words,
"Local Calls 5 Cents" written in
plain sight on the telephone. "Oh --
right!" he said, trying to sound like
he had known it all along. "Uh,
Madison 3489."
"Five cents, please."
Marty placed the nickel inside the
coin slot and listened as the number
ran several times.
"I'm sorry, there's no answer," the
operator said after a minute.
"Operator, what's today's date?"
Marty asked, holding his breath as he
waited for the answer.
"March 11th."
"What year?"
"Nineteen fifty --"
Marty shook his head. "Dammit!" He
slammed the receiver down and ripped
the page out of the phone book,
stuffing it in his pocket. Then he
got out of the phone booth and ran
down the street.
Marty didn't know how long he had
been running before he found himself
on a residential street. It looked
vaguely familiar, but he was too
exhausted by the recent events to
figure out why. He leaned against a
mailbox, trying to catch his breath,
when he happened to look down at the
numbers on it. 777. Marty spun around
and stared at the house.
"My house!" he whispered. It looked
like his house. It was! But there
were some weird things, like the
trees not being as tall, different
curtains, and a old Chevy in the
driveway. Marty watched as the front
door opened and a woman pushed the
screen door open to let out a dog.
Marty gasped. The woman was his
mother!
"Mom!" he cried, racing to the front
door. She didn't notice him and shut
the door. Marty ran up the steps and
pounded on the front door. "Mom! Open
up! It's me!"
After a few seconds the door opened
and his mom stood in the doorway. She
stared at Marty without a shred of
recognition.
"Mom, thank God!" he babbled. "Thank
God you're here!"
His mother stared at him blankly. "I
bed your pardon, young man?"
Marty paled. "Mom! It's me! Marty!
Don't you know your own son!"
Mom started to close the door, her
expression uneasy. "I think you have
the wrong house."
Marty shook his head frantically. "No
-- no -- it's not!" he cried, having
trouble breathing. "It's not!"
A man smoking a pipe approached
Marty's mother from behind. "Who's
there, Stella?" he asked.
"Stella!?" Marty gasped. "No! Don't
tell me you're Stella! Tell me you're
Eileen!" he begged. "Please tell me
you're Eileen!"
In the background, Marty saw a
teenage girl come down the staircase.
She heard the last part of the
conversation and went over to the
door, pushing her way past the woman.
"I'm Eileen," she said.
He stared into her hazel eyes. "How
old are you?" he whispered.
Eileen smiled. "Seventeen."
Marty stared at her for a moment
more, breathing hard, before his eyes
rolled back in his head and he
slumped to the ground in a dead
faint!
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Five
Marty smelled something funny. He
made a face and turned his head, but
the smell followed him. He slowly
opened his eyes and looked up into
the face of someone he knew.
"Professor? Professor Brown?" Marty
asked weakly. It looked a lot like
him, only he didn't look as old. Then
Marty remembered -- he was in 1952!
"You know me?" the Professor
wondered, removing the smelling salts
from under Marty's nose now that he
was awake. It was only then Marty
realized he was stretched out on a
couch in a living room that looked an
awful lot like his own.
"Professor, you time machine works!"
Marty said rapidly. "It works! It
sent me back in time! I'm from 1982!"
"Ssshhhhh!" Professor Brown said,
holding up his hand. His expression
was both thoughtful and suspicious.
Marty heard footsteps and turned his
head to see his grandfather,
grandmother, and mother, all looking
thirty years younger, edging closer
to the couch to get a look at him.
"Is he all right?" Mr. Baines asked
finally.
The Professor straightened up. "He
will be. Simple inebriation, is all.
The young man must have a rather low
tolerance for alcohol...something
that runs in the family. You see,
he's a second cousin of mine on my
mother's side. Came quite a distance
to visit me," he added. "His name's
Lewis."
"Marty," Marty corrected him.
"Uh, Marty Lewis," Professor Brown
said hastily. "I almost didn't
recognize him -- haven't seen him in
years."
Eileen stared at Marty and he looked
back at her, fascinated that this
young teenager was -- would be -- his
mother! She looked so
different...attractive, even!
"It's a good thing he had your name
circled in the phone book," Mrs.
Baines said to the Professor. "I
would have called the police."
Professor Brown leaned over and
helped Marty sit up. "Well, Mrs.
Baines, Mr. Baines, thank you for
your trouble," he said as Marty got
to his feet. "Both Marty and I
apologize for the inconvenience.
We'll get him home and as good as
new."
Mr. Baines looked sharply at Marty
and shook his finger at him. "Son,
you watch yourself," he warned.
"Yes, sir," Marty said, nodding his
head.
"Oh," Eileen began, going over to a
chair a few feet away and picking up
the silver jacket of Marty's. Someone
must've taken it off him when they
brought him into the house, he
realized. "Here's your jacket," she
said softly, her big eyes locked on
his face.
"Uh, thanks..." Marty stammered.
Eileen held up the jacket and gave it
a quizzical look.
"What kind of material is this?" she
asked. "I've never seen anything like
it."
He took it from her hand. "It's
polyester," he said matter-of-factly.
Eileen frowned. "Poly-what?"
Professor Brown jumped in. "It's an
experimental invention of mine. Sort
of a rubberized silver-foil. I just
made up a name for it. Come on,
Marty," he added, walking toward the
front door. "We've got a lot to talk
about."
Marty followed the Professor. He was
just about to step out the door when
Eileen stopped him. "Marty?"
He turned. "Huh?"
"Have we ever met before?" she asked,
a puzzled look on her face. Marty's
eyes met hers, but before he could
open his mouth, the Professor grabbed
his arm and pulled him out the door.
* * * Fifteen minutes later, the
Professor's 1937 Packard was pulling
into the driveway of a huge Victorian
mansion on the outskirts of town.
"...and the flux capacitor is hooked
into this thing that looks like a
condenser with a lense on it..."
Marty was saying as Professor Brown
stopped the car. He looked at the
house for the first time and let out
a low whistle as they both got out of
the car. Even in the dark, Marty was
able to see how fancy it was.
"Jeez -- this is where you used to
live, huh?" he said, impressed. "You
must have been rich!"
"Must have been?" the Professor
asked. "Used to live? I do live
here."
"Oh, yeah," Marty realized as they
started to walk up the drive to the
front door. "Well, there's a mall
here now -- I mean, there will be."
"A mall?"
"Yeah, a shopping mall. You know, a
shopping mall?"
Professor Brown held his hands up and
shook his head. "Ssshhhhh -- don't
tell me these things, Marty. I don't
want to know about the future." He
opened the front door and stepped
inside the living room. Marty looked
around as the Professor switched on
the lights.
"Do you see it here?" he asked, in
reference to the time machine.
The living room was filled with
antique furniture, pieces of
different mechanical devices lying
everywhere. It was easy to see that
the Professor's love of inventing was
just beginning, since everything was
still relatively neat. But there was
no sign of the time machine. Marty
shook his head. "No."
Professor Brown walked across the
room and into another one. This one
appeared to be a study. Bookshelves
lined the walls, filled with old
volumes. On the desk in the center of
the room, Marty recognized little
models of that one robot and flying
car he had seen plans of in the
future. The Professor watched Marty
as he glanced about the room, but he
had to shake his head again. No time
machine.
The Professor crossed the room, over
to a door at the far end of the
study. He pulled out a key and
unlocked it, pushing it open. He
switched a light on inside and
gestured for Marty to come over.
Marty only had to glance at the room
for a second before recognizing the
time machine. It looked a little less
run down, cleaner and shinier, but it
was the time machine nonetheless.
"This is it!"
Professor Brown placed the key back
in his pocket and looked hard at
Marty. "You've convinced me that you
must be who you say you are," he
concluded. "No living human has ever
seen this machine." The Professor
paused, a frown on his face. "But
why? Why even in my twilight years
would I remotely consider sending
someone back in time?"
"You didn't, Professor," Marty
assured him. "It was an accident! You
see, what happened --"
"No! Don't tell me!" he insisted,
holding his hands up again. "I don't
want to know the future! My knowledge
of future events...your mere presence
here...could have devastating effects
on the course of history. And
altering history is a responsibility
that I do not wish to bear. My
immediate response is to send you
back to your own time."
Marty had heard the Professor say
almost those exact same words when he
had wanted to send Shemp back in time
with the sports scores. It seemed
like a million years ago even though,
technically, it was thirty years in
the future. But this time he agreed
with the Professor. He wanted to go
home. "I can dig that."
Professor Brown gave him a strange,
puzzled look. "Pardon me?" Oh , Marty
realized. The expression probably
hadn't been invented yet. "I can get
behind -- I agree with you," he
explained.
The phone rang in the study. The
Professor left the room with the time
machine to answer it. Marty followed
him and checked out the models on the
desk while the Professor picked up
the phone on the third ring. He
didn't mean to listen on the
conversation, but it was kind of hard
not to.
"Hello?" There was a pause. "Yes
Charles, yes, I looked over the
offer." Another pause. "It's very
generous that they want to make me a
major stockholder. But I'm just not
interested in a position with this
little X-rox corporation....If it's
pronounced 'Zerox', why don't they
spell it with a Z? ....Look, I'm on
the verge of a breakthrough on my
power converter."
Marty dropped the little car he had
been looking at when the Professor
said that. The power converter! How
could he have forgotten! It needed
nuclear power and he didn't think
there was any now, at least none that
they could get there hands on. Did
that mean he was....stuck here?
Professor Brown continued to talk on
the phone, not noticing the sick
expression on Marty's face.
"....Well, any day now. And then I'll
need people to work for Emmett Brown
Industries! I've got a lot of ideas
that are going to create a lot of
jobs." He paused for a moment, then
added, "Very well, good night,
Charles."
The Professor shook his head as he
hung up the phone. "The X-rox
Corporation. How are they going to
sell a product if you can't even
pronounce the name?"
He turned back to Marty. "Now...the
time machine works, that's obvious.
As I've always known, it's a question
of power. Where did I -- will I get
enough power to send a man thirty
years through time?"
Marty opened his mouth to tell him,
but Professor Brown quickly held up
his hands. "No -- wait -- don't tell
me!" He didn't say anything for a
long moment, then shook his head. "On
second thought, there may be some
things you'll have to tell me."
"The power converter...." Marty
began.
"Of course!" the Professor burst out,
interrupting him. "The power
converter! It works! Of course, it
works," he added to himself. He
looked at Marty. "What chemicals do
we use?"
Marty hesitated, slowly taking a deep
breath before starting. "Well,
Professor, are you sure you want me
to tell you? You know, changing the
course of history and all...."
Professor Brown looked torn. "Blast
it -- no, I suppose you're right....
You do know the proper chemical
formula?"
Marty nodded. "Sure, and there won't
be any problem getting some --" He
stopped. He had almost blurted it
out. "Getting it," he finished.
The Professor walked over to a bar
and pulled a glass bottle of brandy
out of the cabinet. "Coke?" he asked
as he started to pour the alcohol in
a glass.
Marty stared at him, stunned. "How
did you know?"
"Just a guess. I figured kids would
still be drinking Coke in 1982," he
answered.
Marty let out all the breath he had
been holding. So he didn't know that
was the secret formula after all.
"All right, then it's very simple,"
Professor Brown said, tossing Marty a
bottle of Coke as he spoke.
"Tomorrow, weather permitting, you'll
get the chemicals, and we'll wire the
power converter to the time machine,
point it at the sun, and send you
home."
Marty hesitated again. He had a
feeling that what he was about to say
would not really please the
Professor. "Well, not exactly,
Professor. You see, we don't point it
at the sun."
"We don't...." The Professor lifted
up his drink to his lips.
"No," Marty took a deep breath. He
had gone this far. He might as well
go all the way. "We need a nuclear
reactor."
Professor Brown choked on his drink.
"A nuclear reactor," he coughed. "How
much energy do we need?"
Marty shrugged -- then remembered the
Micro-Cassette Recorder! He still had
it with him, in his pocket. He took
it out and rewound it, then hit play
and set it on the Professor's desk.
Professor Brown looked at it
strangely, but didn't ask any
questions. He sat down at his desk
and the two of them listened as it
played back. After a couple minutes,
it got to the important part.
"Release the rope!" Marty heard
himself yell on the tape. "It's 4200
rads!"
The tape grew silent. It had reached
the end. Professor Brown reached out
and picked up the recorder, staring
at the buttons for a minute before
pressing the one to stop it. He
didn't say anything for a moment,
then: "4200 rads? Good God!"
Marty was trying to twist the top of
the Coke bottle, but for some reason
it wouldn't turn. The Professor
continued.
"There's something I still don't
understand." The Professor picked the
recorder up again and rewound it.
"Fascinating device," he commented as
it spun back. Professor Brown stopped
it and played back the gunshot
sounds. "These loud bangs...could
those be some sort of malfunction in
the time machine? Do you know what
they are?"
Marty gripped the Coke bottle so hard
his knuckles turned white. He
couldn't tell Professor Brown that
those sounds were him being shot! "I
wouldn't worry about 'em, Professor,"
he finally said.
A minute passed while the tape
replayed. "4200 rads..." the
Professor said again when the tape
ended. "That certainly can't be
generated under controlled conditions
in this day and age."
"That's just great," Marty said
sarcastically, still trying to get
that Coke bottle open. It was like
the cap was welded on there!
"However...there's a lot I don't know
about nuclear physics. So first think
in the morning, I'll go to the
University and see what I can find
out. I want you to stay in the
house," he said to Marty, pointing a
finger at him. "It's very important
that you don't interfere in any way
with the outside world. I've got
plenty of food, there's the radio,
books, magazines...I've even got one
of those new television sets. There's
plenty to do."
Professor Brown stared at Marty as he
twisted and turned that cap in every
imaginable way possible. "What are
you doing?"
Marty gave up and held the bottle
out. "How do you open these?"
The Professor took the bottle from
his hand and picked up a bottle
opener lying nearby. A second later
he handed it back, now without the
top. Marty looked down at the Coke in
his hand, then up at the Professor.
"It doesn't look good, does it,
Professor?" he asked flatly.
Professor Brown shook his head. "At
the moment, it looks like you're
stuck here."
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Six
Early the next morning, Professor
Brown walked down the hall to the
room he had given Marty McFly late
the night before. He stopped and
listened carefully, hearing no sound
from the other side. After a minute
he reached for the doorknob and
turned it. The Professor pushed the
door open a couple of inches,
sticking his head around the side of
the door to peer inside.
The shades were wide open, the first
rays of sunlight slanting across the
room over to the bed. Marty was lying
on top of the queen bed on his back,
one arm hanging over the side of the
bed, still fully dressed in his 1982
clothes. His eyes were closed and he
appeared to be asleep. The Professor
studied him for a moment, then slowly
stepped inside the room and crept
across to the table next to the bed,
where the Cathedral Radio rested and
the small cassette recorder. He had
come in to get a closer look at the
future object.
Professor Brown carefully picked the
recorder up and examined it. His
finger accidentally hit the play
button and a loud burst of
conversation came out. The Professor
swore under his breath as he fumbled
for the stop button. His eyes flew to
Marty as he quickly set the recorder
on the table again. Marty let out a
deep sigh, eyes still closed, and
rolled over.
Professor Brown waited a moment, to
make sure Marty wasn't going to
awaken. He listened to his slow, deep
breathing for a second, then quickly
crossed the room to the door. The
Professor eased it shut and continued
down the hall. He had to get to the
University and look up the
information about nuclear physics.
Hopefully, there would be a answer to
send Marty back to the future.
* * * Marty felt warm sunlight on his
face. He threw an arm across his
still-closed eyes to block it out,
along with the memories. Pieces of
the night before came back to him,
being in 1952. Maybe, Marty thought,
it was just a dream. All I have to do
is open my eyes and I will see that
it was all part of some bizarre
dream....
He sighed as his eyes focused on his
surroundings. It wasn't a dream. He
was lying on the bed in the room that
Professor Brown had given him the
night before. He was still in 1952.
Marty reached over and clicked on the
old radio by the bed, mostly out of
habit. He waited a few seconds,
expecting to hear some old song, but
nothing came on. He hit it a few
times, wondering if it was broken.
Only a minute later did sound slowly
come on, and it was horrible! Marty
made a face as he rolled over and
twisted the tuning dial, skimming the
different stations for something
better. Nothing that even remotely
resembled any type of rock 'n roll
came on. Marty flipped the radio off,
shaking his head in disgust.
He got off the bed and left his room,
wandering downstairs to the kitchen.
He opened a cabinet and found a
coffee pot. As he was taking it out
of the cabinet, it slipped from his
hands and crashed onto the hardwood
floor, separating into different
pieces. Marty swore and knelt down,
trying to get it back together. After
a minute, he gave up and set it
aside.
Marty turned to the refrigerator and
pulled it open. He fished out a
bottle of milk and took off the
little piece of foil at the top.
Taking a glass off the counter, he
set it on the kitchen table and
lifted up the bottle to pour some
milk in the glass. Nothing came out.
Marty held it up and looked down the
neck, noticing a cardboard plug
keeping the milk in. He stuck a
couple fingers down there, trying to
pull it out - but he couldn't get
ahold of it! With a sigh of
annoyance, Marty finally just pushed
his fingers through the cardboard and
poured the milk in the glass.
After pulling the bottle back in the
refrigerator, Marty sat down at the
kitchen table to drink his milk. He
noticed some magazines and newspapers
spread out and lifted a couple of
them up for a closer look. The issue
of Time had a cover story titled,
"The Republicans: Who Will Win in
'52?" Photos of the men involved were
splashed on the cover. Marty stared
at it for a moment.
"Eisenhower," he said aloud before
tossing it aside.
He picked up a Newsweek. "Will We
Have War With Russia This Year?" the
cover asked in big bold letters.
"No," Marty said with a bored sigh.
He took a look at the local
newspaper. "Crime Rate Continues to
Rise!" the headline screamed. Marty
shook his head and noticed a Saturday
Evening Post lying nearby. A picture
of some high school students were on
the cover with the words, "What's
Wrong With the Younger Generation?"
He laughed and flipped the magazine
over. An ad for Van Heusen Shirts had
Ronald Regan in it.
"Jesus," Marty muttered when he saw
it, shaking his head again. The
doorbell rang. Marty looked up from
the periodicals, uneasy. He stayed
seated, remembering the Professor's
instructions from the night before.
The bell rang again and Marty got up
from the table and walked slowly
through the dining room and living
room to the front door. He stopped a
few feet away from it, staring hard
at the wood and feeling torn.
The doorbell rang for a third time.
What if it was someone in trouble?
What if someone was hurt and needed
to use the phone? Would it be such a
bad thing, then, if he answered the
door?
Aw, what the hell, he thought. Marty
stepped forward and opened the door.
"Aha!" Professor Brown exclaimed,
shoving a finger at Marty's chest
from the porch. "You answered the
door!"
"You were ringing the doorbell!"
Marty cried, taking a step back as
the Professor walked inside.
"I told you not to interfere with any
of the events of this time!"
Professor Brown explained firmly.
"Nobody's supposed to see you here!
What if I was a mailman? Or a
salesman?"
"What if you lost your keys?" Marty
countered, still holding the door
opened.
"Then I would have figured out to get
back in through the events in the
natural course of history! Don't you
understand?" the Professor asked,
noticing Marty's blank expression.
"The fabric of history is very
delicate. Anything you do could have
serious consequences!"
"Hey, look, gimme a break!" Marty
said with a shrug. "All I did was
answer the door! How's that gonna
change history?"
"I don't know, but I don't want to
take any chances," Professor Brown
said, his tone leaving no room for
argument. "Now you stay here and
don't do anything. Don't answer the
door, don't answer the phone, don't
go outside." He finished checking the
items off his fingers and looked at
Marty again. "Understand?"
Marty rolled his eyes, having it up
to here with the lecturing!
"Hey, get off my case, would you? I
didn't want to come here, and the
only reason I'm here in the first
place is because I was a nice guy,
helping you out. So don't tell me I
gotta stay cooped up in here and vege
out, because none of this is my
fault!" he finished, almost yelling
the last couple of words out.
Professor Brown appeared unaffected
by the speech. "Let me put it on a
level you can understand. You don't
belong here. You don't know anything
about this world. You don't know the
customs, you don't know how to talk,
how to act -- you don't even look
like you belong here. And if you
walked out on the street, you
wouldn't get 100 yards without being
arrested. Then there would be
questions, and where would we come up
with the answers?"
Marty sighed. "Okay, Professor, I get
where you're coming from. The way I
look, the way I'm dressed..." He
looked down at his silver Porsche
jacket he still had on. "I'd stick
out like a sore thumb."
Professor Brown nodded, looking
relieved. "I'm glad we finally got
that straightened out. I'll see you
tonight." He left the house, slamming
the door behind him.
Marty stared at the door for a moment
with his eyes narrowed, then he
returned to the kitchen.
* * * Half an hour later, Marty was
ready. He'd finished his breakfast
and then had a shower, changing into
some of the Professor's clothes
instead of his own from 1982. He had
slicked his hair back like he had
seen the men doing so in some of
those magazines and was now ready to
explore the town. After all,
Professor Brown had said the reason
he couldn't go out was because of the
way he looked, more or less. And now
that he looked like a resident of
1952, Marty saw no problem in leaving
the house.
He opened a window at the front of
the house and climbed outside, then
ran off in the direction of town.
Less then twenty minutes later, Marty
was strolling down the sidewalk with
the other townspeople, trying to look
nonchalant, like he had always lived
there. He thought he was doing a
pretty good job of it, too, since no
one was looking at him twice.
A cop that had been walking on the
other side of the street glanced at
Marty and stopped, pointing a finger
at him. "Hey, you!" he shouted.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Marty's eyes widened and fought the
urge to run. How did he know? he
wondered in horror. The cop walked
right for him, then, just as Marty
was ready to accept defeat, he passed
him and grabbed the arm of a tramp
several yards behind Marty. He
relaxed, letting out a sigh of
relief, and continued to walk down
the street. After a minute he started
to get excited again as he looked
around at the shops and businesses up
and down the main street.
There was an appliance store that
advertised "Giant 8 Inch
Televisions!" with "A screen as big
as life itself!" Across from it was
an old gas station with the price
advertised at 18.9 cents a gallon. A
travel agency had a poster on how to
get from "L.A. to New York in a mere
12 hours!" in it's window.
There was a dance studio with a sign,
"Everybody's doing the Mambo!" on the
outside. Through the window, Marty
could see a class in session. A
clothing store with a display of "the
latest fashions" was beside the
studio. They looked a lot more like
the kind of stuff in old movies. A
Studebaker showroom had a sign that
said it was, "the most modern car
ever developed in the entire history
of man." Marty chuckled, then stopped
when he saw the next store.
It was a music store. In the display
window were posters showing America's
top recording artists. Marty frowned
as he studied them. Frank Sinatra,
Guy Combardo, Dinah Shore, Perry
Como. Are they kidding? He decided to
go inside and find out.
On the counter was the current number
one single, "Papa Loves Mambo" by
Perry Como. Marty made a face as he
examined it. He suddenly noticed the
clerk was standing beside him.
"Can I help you, sir?" the man in the
suit asked.
Marty held up the single. He had to
ask. "This is the number one single?"
"Yes, sir!" the clerk responded
enthusiastically.
"I don't get it," Marty said, shaking
his head. "How come there's no rock
'n roll?"
The clerk frowned. "I beg your
pardon?"
"This is 1952....?"
"Uh, yes, sir...." the clerk said,
looking terribly confused.
"And you never heard of rock 'n
roll?"
"No...."
Marty grinned as he set the single
back on the counter, suddenly having
a great idea. "Well, maybe it's time
you did."
He quickly left the store and headed
for a pawnshop he had noticed on the
outskirts of town. There was a guitar
in the window, for five dollars.
After studying it for a moment, Marty
went inside and told the Pawnbroker
what he wanted. The man took the
guitar down and brought it to the
cash register and Marty trailed after
him.
"That'll be five bucks," he said,
setting the guitar on the counter.
Marty reached for his wallet and
pulled out the same twenty dollar
bill he had tried using at the cafe
the night before. The Pawnbroker
started to ring the purchase up, then
took a closer look at the money.
"Hey, what kinda funny money is
this?" he demanded, squinting at the
bill.
"Huh?" Marty didn't get it.
The Pawnbroker held the money out and
pointed to something. "It says '1977'
on it. What do you take me for, an
idiot?" He handed the bill back to
Marty.
Marty looked at it and only then
realized his mistake. He had used
money that hadn't even been printed
yet! "Oh -- yeah," he said, his mind
racing for a explanation to give the
guy that didn't sound too illegal. It
wouldn't do for him to get arrested
as a counterfeiter. "I can't believe
I did that. That's a joke. My friend
had these printed up -- see that's
his name there..." Marty pointed to
the word. "...Blumenthal."
The Pawnbroker continued to watch him
suspiciously. It didn't look like he
was buying it. Marty dug around in
his wallet, but of course he didn't
have any thirty-year-old bills with
him.
"Gee - I don't seem to have anything
on me." He put his wallet away and as
he did so, the watch Professor Brown
was lending him caught his eye. "Hey,
how about this watch?" Marty asked
the man, holding up his left wrist.
"It's a genuine antique!"
He slipped the watch off and handed
it to the Pawnbroker. He carefully
examined it. "Antique?" he scoffed.
"They just came out with this watch
last month. But this one looks like
it's been through a war."
"Yeah, I've been doing a lotta
travelling," Marty admitted.
"Okay kid," the Pawnbroker finally
said. "You got a deal. The watch for
the guitar."
* * * Inside the office of the
Midwest Talent Agency, Marty was
concentrating hard on performing
"Blue Suede Shoes" the way Elvis had
-- or would. Dancing around, singing,
playing the instrument -- he was
really into it, hardly noticing the
forty five-year-old agent that sat
behind the desk and smoking a cigar,
his face expressionless as he
listened to the music. Covering the
walls of the small office were black
and white pictures of some clients
that the agency sponsored.
Marty finished the song and looked at
the agent with a smile, waiting for
the praise that was sure to follow.
Who couldn't love music like that?
The agent, however, must have been
one of those people.
"Well, kid," he began, setting the
cigar down in an ash tray, "it's
interesting, I'll say that. But it's
not commercial."
"Not commercial?" Marty repeated in
disbelief. Did he know what he was
saying? "Mister, don't you know what
you're listening to? This is rock 'n
roll!"
The agent shook his head as he heaved
his body out of the chair. "Call it
what you want to kid, but don't call
it music, 'cause it sure ain't that!"
"But you don't understand --"
"No buts, kid," the agent broke in.
"I've been in this business my whole
life and I know what people want. The
smooth sound, that's what sells.
Como, Crosby, Dinah Shore. Gimme a
melody and a nice slow tempo. Now
beat it!" he added, opening the door
and shoving Marty into the waiting
room.
Marty stood where he was, trying to
figure out what had happened. A few
seconds later the agent tossed his
guitar case out of the room and
slammed the door. He hardly noticed
the black man in a silk shirt
approaching him.
"That sound I just heard coming
through the door," the man said to
Marty as he bent over to pick up his
case. "That was like nothing I ever
heard before! I mean, you got
something there, young man!"
Marty looked at him quizzically. At
least one person had recognized
rock'n roll for what it was! "Who are
you?"
"Reginald Washington is my name," he
said. "I manage some of the local
bands around town and I think you've
got something we can promote all the
way to the top! Now, I've got a real
important cat comin' in from a New
York record company on Monday the
18th, and I want you to play that
music for him. I think the time has
come for a sound like that."
Marty grinned at his words. Reginald
took a business card from his pocket
and jotted down the date, time, and
place on it with a pencil. "That's
March 18th, Noon. Be at my office.
What's your name?"
"Marty Mc - Marty Lewis," he quickly
corrected himself.
Reginald nodded. "Okay, Marty Lewis.
See you on the 18th." He handed him
the card and shook his hand.
Marty looked at the card, not
believing his luck. This was great!
"Right on, brother!" he cried.
Reginald gave him a strange look. "I
think you're a little mixed up. There
is absolutely no way that I could be
your brother." He turned and walked
away. Marty glanced at the card again
and smiled.
* * * That evening, Marty stood
before the mirror in the bedroom
Professor Brown was letting him use.
He had changed back into his 1982
clothes and was practicing the
guitar, making sure he looked good.
He had been doing it for close to
fifteen minutes when he heard the
front door open and slam shut.
Stopping in mid-note, Marty hastily
placed the guitar in a corner of the
room. He ran his fingers through his
hair, mussing it up and adding to the
illusion that he had spent the whole
day lying around the house. On his
way out the door, he grabbed the
business card off the bed that
Reginald had given him earlier that
day and stuffed it in his Porsche
jacket, draped over a chair.
Marty ran down the stairs and saw
Professor Brown pouring himself a
drink. He looked up as Marty came in
the room, a scowl on his face. For a
split second, Marty worried that he
might have found out about his trip
into town. "Well," he began slowly,
"I found an energy source that can
generate the 4200 rads that we
need...."
Marty looked at him expectantly,
waiting for the answer.
"An atomic bomb."
Marty snorted. "Professor, be
serious, would you?"
"I am serious," Professor Brown
insisted. "If we could get you, the
time machine, and the power converter
in the vicinity of an atomic blast,
we could send you back to the
future."
"You're talking crazy!" Marty cried.
"An atomic blast would melt me and
the time machine in a matter of
seconds!"
The Professor shook his head. "You
forget -- time travel is
instantaneous. The time machine would
melt, but you would have already
travelled through time. Of course,
it's a moot point regardless. The
only place atomic bombs are detonated
is at the Army's Nevada Test Site,
and those tests are kept absolutely
top secret."
Marty suddenly recalled sitting in
class on the day he had left, the
lecture Mr. Arky had given him. He
remembered ripping a particular page
out of the textbook for Suzy, and
pocketing it in his jacket. He
whirled around and pounded up the
stairs to his room.
Marty grabbed the jacket and checked
the first pocket. Yeah, there was the
textbook page. He quickly unfolded
it, the business card from Reginald
falling out as he did so. Marty's
eyes flew to the caption of the
picture: "Last above ground atomic
test, 15 megatons, March 18, 1952,
Atkins, Nevada."
The date seemed familiar.... Marty
picked the business card off the
floor and checked the date on it
beside the page. They were the same.
Marty looked between the two objects
in his hands for a long moment,
trying to figure out what to do.
Maybe get home -- or get nuked -- or
stay in the fifties and maybe become
famous -- and alive at least. He
crumpled up the page and tossed it in
the garbage just before Professor
Brown entered the room.
"Marty, what's wrong?" he asked,
looking around.
He slipped the card back in the
jacket and shrugged, trying to seem
nonchalant. "Oh -- nothin'. I thought
I left the water running."
The Professor's eyes zeroed in on the
guitar in the corner of the room. He
stepped over for a closer look before
Marty could stop him.
"Say, where did this guitar come
from?"
"Oh -- that -- I found it in the
closet," Marty said quickly.
"I don't recall ever seeing it
before," Professor Brown said, giving
Marty a strange look.
"Well, it was there."
"Curious," the Professor mused. "Very
curious...."
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Seven
Late the next morning, Marty stirred
and opened his eyes. It was another
bright, sunny day outside. He smiled
slowly, thinking of his audition a
few days away, and crawled out of
bed. The house was quiet, with the
Professor at work.
Marty went downstairs and into the
kitchen. Professor Brown had left the
coffee pot on and he cheerfully
poured himself a cup, then opened the
refrigerator and pulled out the new
bottle of milk. He got the stopper
out in a matter of seconds, without
breaking it, too. As Marty added the
milk to the black coffee, he started
to sing.
"So you wanna be a rock 'n roll
star..." he began. The doorbell rang
before he could get any further with
the song. Marty rolled his eyes and
set the milk down. He was going to
have to go through this again? Marty
left the kitchen and headed for the
front door. He shook his head as he
reached for the knob.
"Look, Professor," he started to say,
opening the door, "I'm not -- oh."
The words died in his throat. Marty
stared at Eileen, standing on the
doorstep, hugging books to her chest.
She smiled at him and Marty smiled
back, weakly.
"Hi, Marty," she said.
"Uh, hi...."
"Eileen," his mother jumped in.
Marty gave another weak smile. It was
hard for him to say her name. "Right.
Eileen." What is she doing here?
The smile faded from Eileen's face.
"You remember me...?" she asked, an
uncertain tone to her voice.
How could I forget? "Oh, sure, I
remember you."
"Well, I was on my way to school, and
I just wanted to stop by and see if
you were feeling okay," she
explained. "You seemed like you were
in pretty bad shape the other night."
"Oh, I'm feeling much better now,"
Marty said.
The smile returned to Eileen's face.
"How long are you planning on
staying?"
Marty shrugged. "Actually, it looks
like I'm gonna be stuck here for
awhile," he admitted.
Eileen's smile grew wider. "Then
you'll be going to school here....?"
"School?" Marty repeated, mostly to
himself. "I never thought of school!
If I went to school I could blend in
with everybody else, couldn't I?"
Eileen blinked, puzzled.
"What time does school start around
here?" Marty asked her.
"Nine o' clock," she said, glancing
at her watch. Her eyes grew wide.
"Oh, I'm late! Maybe I'll see you
later."
"Yeah," Marty said thoughtfully.
"Maybe so."
Eileen flashed another smile at him,
then turned and hurried down the
walk. Marty shut the door and headed
for the upstairs.
* * * Not much later, Marty walked up
the steps of his future high school,
amazed at the change. The grafitti
was gone from the building, as were
the broken windows and overall run-
down worn-in look the place had held
before -- or would later. All the
tall trees on campus were much
smaller, maybe half the size they
were in 1982. The bell rang as he
reached the door, a notebook in hand,
and students streamed into the
hallways.
Marty stared openly at his
classmates. They all looked like
people from an old movie, with the
hair and clothes, the way they
acted.... He walked through the hall
and passed an open door. The
classroom looked familiar and he
stopped, looking inside.
After a moment of hesitation, Marty
walked inside. Yeah, he had been in
it before! But everything looked a
lot different -- newer. And the
chalkboards were black, not green. He
went over to the desk that would be
his in thirty years and ran a hand
across the smooth, shiny surface,
devoid of any marks or carvings.
"You there!" he heard someone yell.
Someone familiar.... "What are you
doing in this class?"
Marty lifted his head up and found
himself looking at Mr. Arky -- thirty
years younger! His mouth dropped open
and his eyes widened as he stared at
the science teacher. He looked so
different, age aside. Their was an
energetic spark in his eyes that
hadn't been there when Marty would
have him for a teacher.
"Mr. Arky?" Marty asked, blinking a
few times to make sure he wasn't
seeing things. He wasn't. "Mr. Arky!"
"Yes, that's my name," the teacher
said, unamused. "Who are you, young
man? Are you supposed to be here?"
"Uh -- yeah," Marty said slowly. "I'm
new here, and I'm supposed to be in
this class."
Mr. Arky nodded. "You have a name?"
"Marty. Marty Lewis."
* * * Marty watched the girl in the
seat next to him, his eyes focused on
the old fountain pen she was filling
with ink. He couldn't believe it.
Where were the pens he was used to?
In the background, Mr. Arky continued
with the day's lecture. Marty
listened to him with half an ear, not
paying much attention.
"...and it is, of course, due to
science that we Americans enjoy the
highest standard of living in the
history of the world. When we think
of the technological advances made in
just the past thirty years, it
boggles the mind to imagine what the
world will be like in another thirty
years. I think I can safely say that
we can all look forward to a world of
plenty, a world free of disease and
starvation. There'll be entire cities
built under the sea, cars that can go
two or three hundred miles an hour."
Marty stared at Mr. Arky in
disbelief. Could he be serious? Marty
glanced around and noticed the rest
of the class looked bored, as if they
had heard the lecture before.
Goddammit, he is serious!
"You girls will be able to cook an
entire meal, clean the entire house,
and do all of your laundry and
ironing by push button," the science
teacher went on. "You may even have a
robot to assist you in all your
duties as a wife."
"I hope those robots won't be
assisting in all my wife's duties!"
someone yelled from the back. The
class laughed, but Marty was
distracted by something. Where had he
heard that voice before? It sounded
vaguely familiar, but he couldn't
quite put his finger on it....
"Well, Biff, since you seem so eager
to get into this discussion, perhaps
you'd like to tell us what you think
you'll be doing in thirty years?" Mr.
Arky said.
Marty turned around and saw Biff
Tannen -- thirty years younger, of
course -- slouched in the back desk
with a bored expression on his face.
Surrounding him were three other guys
who were obviously friends of his.
One was missing two front teeth, one
chewed on a wooden match, and the
other had a crewcut that made him
look nearly bald. Marty stared at
Biff, who appeared just as obnoxious
as he was later in life.
"I know what I won't be doin'," he
said with a smirk on his face. "Goin'
to school!"
His three cronies broke out laughing.
"Hey, Biff, good one!" the guy
missing his teeth called out.
"Ataway, Biff!" the baldy added.
Biff suddenly noticed Marty's stare.
He scowled at him. "What are you
lookin' at, A-hole?" he demanded.
Marty met Biff's glare, then turned
away. Mr. Arky continued with his
class, the confrontation unnoticed.
"Anybody else have any ideas about
what life might be like in thirty
years?" the teacher asked the class,
eyes roaming the class for
volunteers. No one did, as usual.
At least this hasn't changed , Marty
thought with a chuckle.
"Mr. Cusimano? Miss Voyles? Miss
Kaner?" Mr. Arky looked around the
silent class. "So am I to understand
that no one has anything at all to
say about the future?"
The teacher shifted his gaze to
Marty. "How about you, Mr. McFly?"
Marty felt his face drain of color.
He had been caught! "Oh shit...!" he
muttered under his breath.
A few kids turned their heads to
stare at him, shocked at his words,
including Biff. Marty hardly had a
chance to notice that when the
student in front of him started to
speak.
"Well, I, uh....well...."
Marty glanced at him, and did a
double take. That person stuttering
was none other then a younger version
of George McFly -- his father! Marty
couldn't believe it! First his
mother, now this! George was a mess,
shoulders slumped, hair uncombed, and
an overall nerdy, wimpy look about
him.
"Jesus Christ!" Marty gasped. "Dad!"
The entire class now stared at Marty.
Mr. Arky ignored it as best he could.
"Continue, Mr. McFly," he said.
Marty's father stood up slowly, as if
he were getting called to his
execution. Marty sighed and buried
his face in his hands, shaking his
head. "Well, I -- uh -- could you
repeat the question?" George asked
meekly.
"Sit down, McFly, you stupid moron!"
Biff shouted from the back. "I can't
see!" A second later, a spitball hit
George in the back of the head. His
face red, George sat down.
Marty whipped his head around,
furious, and glared at Biff. "Hey,
lay off!" he ordered.
Biff glared back at him, his eyes
narrowed in slits of hatred.
"Did you say something, Mr. Lewis?"
Mr. Arky asked.
Marty didn't hear him, continuing to
give Biff the worst look he could.
"Mr. Lewis, I'm talking to you," Mr.
Arky said, his voice rising.
Marty snapped out of it, remembering
who he was supposed to be. "Who, me?"
"You're the only Mr. Lewis in this
class," Mr. Arky said with a note of
sarcasm in his voice, gesturing
around. "If you have something to
say, say it so the whole class can
hear."
Marty nodded. If that's what he
wanted. "Well, yeah, I was thinking,"
he began, "if cars are gonna be going
two or three hundred miles an hour,
they're gonna be using an awful lot
of gas. Like, what if we run out?"
Mr. Arky stared at him. "Run out of
gas?" he repeated in disbelief. The
class started laughing. Marty looked
around, baffled. Was what he said
that funny? "Well, class, it seems we
have a doomsayer in our midst. I must
say, Mr. Lewis, that's a mighty
pessimistic attitude for a young man
like yourself," Mr. Arky added.
"First of all, with all the studies
we have indicating the vast supplies
of petroleum in the earth, plus the
massive reserves that have yet to be
discovered, the likelihood of any
such shortage is highly remote. And
even if the most improbable,
catastrophic circumstances were to
occur and we did have a shortage of
petroleum, I'm sure that American
technology and ingenuity would
overcome the problem in no time at
all. All in all," Mr. Arky concluded,
"I'd say your time would be better
spent worrying about the real
problems that face our world, instead
of a shortage of gasoline."
At the back of the class, Biff and
his group started to make farting
noises. "Hey, we got plenty of gas
back here!" Biff cried, causing the
class to erupt into laughter once
again.
Marty just shook his head.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Eight
Not much later, the bell rang, ending
the science class. Everyone made a
mad dash for the door, including
Marty. He'd had enough humiliation
for the day with Mr. Arky.
George waited until most of the other
students had left before gathering up
his books and heading for the door.
Marty separated himself from the mob
in the hall and stood outside the
door, waiting for him. A minute
later, George finally walked into the
corridor. Marty waited a moment, then
followed him, keeping his distance.
When they reached a hall
intersection, Marty noticed Eileen
headed for the two of them, her
friend Madge with her. She didn't
seem to see Marty, but her eyes
locked on George and she smiled at
him. "Hi, George," she cooed.
Marty watched as George looked over
at her and became so flustered that
he walked straight into another
student in the hall. Eileen and her
friend giggled and walked away.
George's eyes followed her until she
was out of sight, then he walked over
to a drinking fountain.
As he leaned over and turned the
fountain on, he misjudged the
distance and the stream of water hit
him right in the face. Marty shook
his head from a few feet away, as
George wiped the water from his eyes.
From the fountain, George headed over
to his locker. Marty watched him dial
the combination and, as he opened the
locker door, a pile of books fell
out, nearly knocking him over. Marty
looked away, sighing.
After George picked up his books, he
started moving in the direction of
the cafeteria. As Marty got in the
lunch line behind him, he noticed a
large poster tacked on the wall.
Something about the "Springtime in
Paris Dance" on Saturday, March 16th.
Not too far off.
Marty turned his attention to his
father, watching the bored cafeteria
ladies shovel out a overcooked pork
chop, wilted salad, and green stewed
tomatoes. Looks like the food isn't
much better now then in 1982, Marty
thought, amused. George didn't seem
to notice. Leaning forward a little,
Marty could hear him muttering to
himself.
"Eileen, if you're free Saturday
night.... No.... Eileen, would you
like to go to the dance...no...."
Something suddenly clicked and Marty
looked at the poster again. Yeah, now
he remembered! That was the dance his
parents fell in love at!
The lunch line moved slowly, but
eventually both he and George got
through it. George looked around the
crowded lunch room, searching for
someone. Marty tried to follow where
his eyes were roaming and after a
moment, he realized George was
staring at the table where Eileen,
Madge, and a few other friends of
theirs were sitting. George took a
deep breath, then started walking
over to the table. Marty followed,
not too far behind.
As George approached the table, his
hands started shaking, causing
everything on his lunch tray to
wobble around. "Uh, Eileen?" he began
when he was at the table.
Eileen turned around and gave him a
warm smile. "Hi, George."
Marty watched his future father, a
bundle of nerves. "Eileen, could I
ask you something?" he said quickly.
The creamed corn on his tray suddenly
tipped over and spilled. "Ooops --!"
Eileen smiled again, obviously not
put off by it.
George took another deep breath. "Uh,
well, the thing is, that is, what I
wanted to ask you...."
Marty decided this was too important
to miss and crept closer so he could
hear better. Unfortunately, Eileen
spotted him.
"Marty!" she exclaimed, rasing an arm
to wave at him. "Hi, Marty! Over
here!"
George spun around before Marty had a
chance to do anything. The sudden
movement causing George's entire tray
to slip from his hands and spill all
over his shirt. "Oh God!" he cried,
horrified. "Excuse me, please!"
He started to run off, but Marty
grabbed his arm. "Wait a minute --
aren't you gonna ask her to the
dance?" That was what was supposed to
have happened, wasn't it?
George stared at him. "Huh? How did
you know?"
Marty pushed him towards Eileen. "Go
ahead, George. Ask her."
George shoved his arms away. "Leave
me alone!"
The gesture shocked Marty, but he
shook his head. "You've gotta ask her
to the dance!"
"Not now...." George muttered,
looking around the cafeteria. People
were beginning to stare.
Eileen had been watching the whole
ordeal with interest. Now she spoke
up. "Is that what you were going to
ask me, George? To go to the dance?"
"No!" George shouted, running away,
out of the cafeteria.
"George!" Marty yelled, taking a few
steps in his direction. "Wait! Get
back here! You're not supposed to run
off! It doesn't happen that way!"
George didn't look back. Marty threw
his hands up in the air helplessly.
"Oh, God, this is all wrong!" he
moaned.
Eileen stared at him with concern.
"What's all wrong?"
Marty ran a hand through his hair,
agitated. "George! He's supposed to
ask you to the dance!"
"But he didn't ask me."
"But he does!" Marty insisted. "Don't
you see?"
By the blank expression on Eileen's
face, it was obvious that she didn't.
Marty quickly explained: "He comes
out of the cafeteria line, he's
nervous, he spills his corn, and he
asks you to the dance!"
"Marty, you haven't been listening.
Nobody's asked me to the
dance...yet," she added, giving him a
flirtatious smile before picking up
her empty lunch tray and walking
away.
Oh, no she couldn't be.... Marty sat
down in a chair, quick, as his legs
threatened to give out on him.
Eileen, his mother, she -- she....
"I know," he whispered.
* * * "You did what?!?" Professor
Brown yelled as Marty finished
telling him what had gone on that
morning. It was later in the
afternoon, they were in his study.
Marty had gone to the Professor right
away, since he had no idea what to do
and needed some advice. His friend
was taking the news better then Marty
had expected.
"I didn't mean to do it -- it was an
accident!" he insisted.
Professor Brown shook his head. "Do
you realize what that means? Do you
have any idea what that means?" he
cried.
Marty shrugged. "Look, it's not a big
deal! I can fix it! All I gotta do is
get 'em together and make sure my old
man asks her out!"
"You better make sure your old man
asks her out," Professor Brown
countered, "because if he doesn't,
they may never have a first date. And
if they don't have a first date, they
won't have a second date. If they
don't have a second date, they won't
fall in love. If they don't fall in
love, they won't get married, and if
they don't get married, you'll never
be born!"
Marty swallowed hard. Well, maybe
everything is a little worse then I
first thought, he realized.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Nine
The next day, Marty brought George to
the malt shop. It was after classes
and all the high school students were
in there, including Eileen.
"I don't know if I can go through
with this!" George moaned as they
drew closer to the building. Marty
dodged two kids on homemade scooters
as they sped by them on the sidewalk.
His eyes followed them for a moment,
the vehicles reminding him of
skateboards.
"George, she's beautiful, right?"
Marty said to him. "She's nice, she's
decent, she's the kind of girl you'd
like to marry, right? And there's
nothing in the world you'd like more
than to take her to that dance,
right?"
"Well...yeah...." George admitted.
"Okay, then!" Marty said brightly.
Suddenly, George stopped, turned and
faced him, his eyes narrowed
suspiciously. "Wait a minute -- who
are you, anyway? What are you doing
this for?" he asked, his hands on his
hips.
Marty hesitated. "Let's just say I
have a vested interest in you and
Eileen going to this dance, all
right? Look," he added, pointing
though the window of the malt shop.
"There she is...."
Eileen was sitting at a table with
Madge and some other girl, each
having ice cream sodas and talking.
"Go in there and invite her," Marty
told George, nudging him in the
direction of the doors.
But George stayed put. "What do I
say?" he worried.
"Say what you were supposed to say in
the cafeteria," Marty prompted him.
George shook his head quickly. "Oh,
no! That was for the cafeteria! This
is different!"
"Christ, it's a miracle I was even
born!" Marty muttered under his
breath, rolling his eyes.
"Huh?"
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Look,
I'll write it down for you, okay?"
Marty took the notebook George had in
his hands and ripped a page out. He
pulled his pen out and started
jotting down some helpful lines.
George stared at the pen as he wrote.
"What is that? A pencil that writes
in ink?" he wondered.
It was Marty's turn to be confused.
"Huh?"
"Lemme see that." George plucked the
pen from his hand and looked it at it
carefully. " 'Bike fine point?' "
"Bic," Marty corrected. "It's a Bic
pen."
George frowned. "How do you fill it
with ink?"
"Fill it with ink?" Marty repeated.
"You don't fill it -- oh come on,
George!" He pushed him into the malt
shop, tired of the procrastination.
As soon as they entered, Marty
steered him in the direction of
Eileen's table and handed him the
paper he had written on.
"There she is," he said in a low
voice. "Just go and ask her. I'll be
sitting right here," Marty added,
taking an empty seat at the counter.
George looked at him, and then over
at Eileen. He took a deep breath and
stepped forward, then suddenly veered
back to the counter. "Gimme a
strawberry malted," he told the soda
jerk. Marty shook his head, wondering
if he would ever get to Eileen.
While he waited for the drink, George
examined the paper Marty gave him and
mouthed the dialog to himself,
apparently trying to memorize it. A
moment later, the malt came and he
took a swig of it, the drink leaving
an unnoticed pink moustache on his
face. He turned around and started to
approach Eileen.
Finally, Marty thought.
George was still several feet away
when Eileen looked up and spotted
him. "Hi, George," she said brightly.
He took a step back, startled. "Uh,
hi, Eileen," he mumbled.
"How are you?" Eileen asked.
"Oh -- I'm all right. Say, listen,
about this dance Saturday night --"
The door to the malt shop was
suddenly thrown open. "Hey, McFly, I
thought I told you never to come in
here!" Biff Tannen yelled, standing
in the doorway with his gang behind
him. George took one look at him and
shuddered. Marty let his head fall in
his hands with a sigh. They had been
so goddamn close!
"Well, it's gonna cost you, McFly,"
Biff continued, stepping onto the
tiled floor. "How much money you got
on you?"
George pulled out his wallet and
opened it. "How much do you want,
Biff?" he asked meekly.
Biff crossed the room, on his way to
George. As he passed, Marty stretched
his leg out and tripped the bully.
Biff crashed to the floor, taking a
chair down with him. People started
to laugh, but Biff scowled. He didn't
think it was too funny. He got to his
feet and stepped over to where Marty
sat, his back to him.
"Listen, A-hole," he growled, "it's
about time I taught you a lesson."
Biff put a hand on his arm and at his
touch, Marty spun around on the stool
and threw his fist into Biff's face!
Unprepared, Biff fell back onto a
table. Marty jumped off the stool.
The cafe was deathly silent and
Biff's three henchmen started to
approach him. Marty decided it was
time for him to leave the building
and he pushed his way out of the
crowded teen hangout and onto Main
Street.
Marty ran down the street, hearing
the pounding footsteps of Biff and
his gang behind him. He cast a quick
look over his shoulder and saw them
closing the gap that separated them.
He was going to be dead meat! One of
the kids on the homemade scooters
sailed by, and Marty suddenly had an
idea. He grabbed the scooter and
pulled it away from the kid, kicking
the orange crate off the board with
the skates on it and leaving a crude
skateboard!
Marty jumped on it and sped down the
street. Biff and his gang stopped in
their tracks and stared at him,
amazed. Likewise with the crowd that
had moved out of the malt shop.
"In the car!" Biff yelled to his
buddies. They raced to the black
convertible, Biff getting behind the
wheel. He gunned the engine, heading
straight for Marty. Marty glanced
over his shoulder and saw the
convertible quickly gaining on him.
He cut a sharp turn in the middle of
the street and crossed before Biff's
car, then started to retrace his
steps back to the malt shop. A car
passed him, and Marty grabbed onto
the back of it, ignoring the stunned
looks of everyone around, including
Biff and his gang.
Biff executed a quick U-turn and
continued his pursuit of Marty. As he
passed the malt shop, the spectators
cheered. "Did you see that?" Madge
asked Eileen, awed.
Eileen nodded, her mouth open,
impressed.
Biff's convertible raced past the
cafe, hot on the trail of Marty.
Marty risked another look back. His
eyes widened in panic as he saw
Biff's convertible closing in on the
distance, quick. Was there no end to
his maniacal determination? Marty
turned his attention back to the
front. He saw Hill Street
intersecting up ahead. Instinctively,
he released his hold on the car and
leaned into the board, turning it
onto the street. Biff once again
overshot the street and had to do
another U-turn to get on it.
Hill Street was not named by accident
-- it was incredibly steep. At the
bottom of the hill was an
intersection with traffic lights.
Marty felt the board pick up speed.
Behind him, Biff was putting the
pedal to the metal, the tires
actually leaving the ground as he
leapt onto Hill Street! Once again,
he quickly closed in on the distance
between the convertible and the
skateboard. Marty crouched down,
cutting the wind resistance down, and
the skateboard picked up speed. He
was approaching the intersection,
fast! The light turned yellow.
Closing his eyes and mouthing a
silent prayer, Marty flew through the
traffic, cars skidding to a stop and
swerving to avoid hitting him.
Miraculously, he made it to the other
side unscathed.
Such could not be said for Biff. His
breaks locked up as he tried to avoid
a red car ahead, and the
convertible's tires skidded across
the road. Marty winced in
anticipation as Biff headed straight
for a red car. At the last minute,
the car pulled away and Biff slammed
into a cop car in the next lane of
traffic! Two big cops immediately got
out and headed straight for Biff, not
looking too happy.
Biff let out an angry sigh. "I'm
gonna get that son of a bitch," he
growled.
Marty left the site, a satisfied
smile on his face. Biff had gotten
what he deserved. He turned onto a
residential street, his mind
wandering as he leisurely
skateboarded. About ten minutes
later, he reached an intersection
next to his future home, and saw
Eileen approaching the house...with
George! Marty skidded to a stop,
grabbed the board, and ducked behind
some bushes to watch.
George, carrying Eileen's books, was
walking her to the door. They were
talking, but Marty couldn't catch any
of the conversation. After a moment,
George gave Eileen her books and they
shook hands very formal-like.
He must've finally asked her to the
dance! Marty sighed, glad to have
that mission finally accomplished and
dropped his board on the ground,
skateboarding away from Eileen's
house to the Professor's place to
tell him the news. He never saw
George, after Eileen had closed the
door, throw his jacket down in the
street and slump down in the gutter,
dropping his head in his hands,
dejected instead of exuberant.
* * *
That evening, Marty lay on his bed,
staring at the ceiling in deep
thought. Eventually, he reached into
his jacket pocket and pulled out the
business card from Reginald. Marty
looked at it for a long time...then
shredded it into tiny scraps. He
pushed himself off the bed and let
the papers fall into the trash can.
Then he pulled out the crumpled
textbook page and went downstairs
with it, heading for the study.
Professor Brown was seated at the
desk, his back to the door, hunched
over something. As Marty entered, he
made a quick movement, as if he was
trying to hide the fact he had been
listening to the micro-cassette
recorder again, the gunshot portion.
Marty didn't notice, too caught up in
his own problems.
"Professor, you were right about
everything," he said. "I don't belong
here. I almost screwed up my
existence again today while I was
trying to put it back together, and
I've had enough. I want to go back to
the future."
Marty handed him the textbook page,
pointing at the caption under the
photograph. The frown on the
Professor's face changed to a smile
and his eyes lit up. "Where did you
get this?" he demanded.
"I brought it with me from 1982,"
Marty explained. "It's from my
science book."
Professor Brown looked at it more
closely. "The test is this Monday! 15
megatons," he mused. "Let's see, we
need 4200 rads..." The Professor did
some calculations on a slide rule,
lying on the desk. "You'd have to
be...exactly 800 yards from ground
zero," he concluded.
Professor Brown turned to Marty with
a serious look. "You realize that
what we're going to do could be
extremely dangerous."
"Believe me, Professor, running
around on a nuclear test site can't
be any more dangerous than what I've
been doing," Marty assured him,
thinking of that afternoon's chase.
The Professor stared at him a moment,
then nodded. "All right, here's what
we'll do: we'll get an Army Surplus
Truck, mount the time machine and
power converter on it, and drive it
to Nevada. If we leave by Saturday
night, we can make it to the test
site in plenty of time. And just to
be on the safe side, I'd better build
a lead-lined time chamber for your
added protection. I don't know if I
trust these atomic bombs," he added.
The telephone rang before Professor
Brown could say anything else. He
reached over and picked it up.
"Hello?" A pause, during which the
Professor looked sharply at Marty.
"Uh, no, Eileen, he can't come to the
phone right now." Marty stared at
him, his heart starting to pound with
alarm.
"All right," Professor Brown was
saying. "Yes, I'll tell him.... Good-
bye." He hung up and turned to Marty
with a grave expression. Marty had a
sinking feeling that he was not going
to like what he had to say. He was
right.
"Your 'mother' wanted me to tell you
that she was very impressed by what
you did this afternoon, and that if
you were interested in going to the
dance Saturday, she's available."
"But that's impossible!!" Marty
cried. "George asked her out! He had
to! I saw him walk her home! Oh,
God!" he moaned.
"My guess is that she turned him
down," Professor Brown said calmly.
"But why?" Marty asked. "Why would
she do that? She's supposed to marry
the guy!"
Professor Brown shrugged.
"Apparently, what has happened is
that the maternal instinct has
transcended the gap of time and this
has caused an alteration in your
mother's emotional behavior."
Marty swallowed hard. "Are you trying
to tell me that my mother's got the
hots for me?" he demanded.
The Professor thought about that for
a moment. "In a manner of speaking,
yes," he decided. "And because of
that, she's no longer interested in
your father."
"Jesus!" Marty sat down in a nearby
chair. "What are we gonna do?"
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Ten
Marty stepped into the malt shop the
next day, his eyes on Eileen and
Madge, both sitting at the same table
as they were the day before, once
again talking and drinking ice cream
sodas. He crossed the room and sat
down with them, to Eileen's delight.
"How ya doing, Eileen?" he greeted
her.
Eileen smiled. She and her friend
exchanged a glance. "Hi, Marty!"
"Listen," Marty began, his hands
under the table top, "Professor Brown
told me you called last night and
gave me your message...." He
carefully taped the micro-cassette
recorder to the bottom of the table
and pressed the record button.
Neither girl seemed to notice
anything. "...and if you're still
available, I'd like to take you to
the dance Saturday night, so I'll
pick you up around 8:30, okay?"
Eileen smiled and nodded as Marty
stood up to leave. "Okay. See you
later, Marty."
Marty gave her a cheerful wave as he
left the malt shop. He pretended to
walk away, then ducked behind a
nearby building. A few minutes later,
Eileen and Madge came out. He waited
until they were out of sight before
running in the shop and prying the
recorder loose.
Later that night, in the Professor's
garage, Marty played it back for the
both of them. Professor Brown had
been welding sheet lead metal into a
large Philco Refrigerator. The time
machine was now resting in the bed of
an Army truck. The Professor had also
modified the top of the refrigerator
to hold the beam focusing unit so the
time beam would shine directly into
the fridge.
"...so I'll pick you up around 8:30,
okay?" Marty heard himself say on the
tape.
"Okay. See you later, Marty."
He heard the sounds of him walking
away and leaving the shop. Almost as
soon as the door shut behind him, the
girls started talking about him.
"Isn't he a dream?" Eileen asked with
a giddy sigh.
"Boy, I've never seen you fall for
anybody like that before," Madge
said.
Eileen sighed again. "I know. I've
never felt like this about anybody
before. I really don't understand it,
but I just feel like -- like
mothering him."
Marty and the Professor exchanged a
look.
"But what about George?" Madge asked
Eileen. "I thought you wanted him to
ask you."
"He did ask me....but I turned him
down."
"Why?" Madge asked, sounding
surprised. "You always thought George
was cute because he was so shy."
"Well, that's what I thought. But he
really isn't shy. He's just chicken."
The Professor suddenly grabbed the
recorder from Marty's hands and
rewound the last sentence.
"He's just chicken," Eileen said
again.
* * * "Come on, George," Marty said
Saturday morning, facing off with him
in his backyard. "Don't be such a
chicken. Hit me in the stomach. Right
here, go ahead." He held his arms
away from his body, making himself an
easy target. Behind him, a duffel bag
packed with clothes swung from a
tree, as a homemade body bag.
George didn't make a move. "I don't
want to hit you in the stomach," he
said meekly.
"You're not gonna hurt me," Marty
insisted. "Just hit me in the
stomach."
"Look, Marty, I'm just not a
fighter," George said, shaking his
head.
Marty rolled his eyes. "How many
times do I have to explain it to
you?" he said patiently. "We know
you're not a fighter. You know it, I
know it...but she doesn't know it.
That's why we gotta make you look
like a fighter, somebody who'll stand
up for her, somebody who isn't
chicken. And you're not gonna look
like a fighter if you can't hit me in
the stomach."
"But I've never picked a fight in my
entire life!"
"You're not picking a fight, you're
coming to her rescue," Marty
corrected. "Maybe we'd better go over
the plan again. Where are you gonna
be at 8:55?"
"At the dance," George replied.
"And where am I gonna be?"
"In the parking lot, with her."
Marty nodded, glad to see that he had
been paying attention. "Okay. So
right around 9:00 she's gonna get
very angry with me -"
"Why?" George interrupted.
"Why what?"
"Why is she gonna get angry with
you?"
Marty hesitated. "Well...because...."
He had a hard time getting the words
out. "Well, nice girls get angry at
guys who...who try to take advantage
of 'em."
George looked at him in disbelief.
"You mean, you're gonna --"
"George; it's not your concern. Don't
worry about it. Just remember that at
9:00, you'll be strolling through the
parking lot and you'll see us" --
Marty gulped -- "struggling in the
car, you'll run over, open the door
and say....?"
Marty waited for George, but he
didn't say anything. "Your line,
George," Marty reminded him.
"Oh. Uh... 'Hey, you! Get your damn
hands off her!' " George paused. "You
really think I should swear?"
"Yes, definitely, George, swear."
Marty continued with the plan. "Then
you hit me in the stomach, I go down
for the count, and you and Eileen
life happily ever after. Now," he
added, coming back to the original
purpose, "hit me in the stomach."
George took a deep breath and
tentatively threw his fist into
Marty's stomach. Marty shook his
head.
"No, George, put a little emotion
into it. A little hostility, a little
anger."
He tried it again, this time making
faces. The second punch wasn't much
better then the one before it.
"Anger, George," Marty reminded him.
"Anger."
George hesitated. "Maybe if I used my
left...."
"No, George, just concentrate on the
anger. Anger."
The third punch George tried was a
little bit better. But still not what
Marty was looking for. He sighed.
"Well, I think you're starting to get
the hang of it. Just keep practicing.
I'll see you tonight. Remember,
anger, George. Anger." He walked
away, leaving George alone in the
yard.
George stared at the body bag, trying
to think of something that would make
him really angry. "Anger...anger...."
he muttered.
He hit it, the punches coming harder
and harder each time. George smiled,
finally getting the hang of it. He
pulled his fist back, ready to sock
it to the bag. Unfortunately, he
misjudged the distance and his fist
slammed into the tree trunk.
"Yeeeowww!" he shouted in pain.
"Goddammit!"
With his left fist, George attacked
the bag with everything he had -- and
knocked it completely off the tree!
He stared at it for a long time,
shocked.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Eleven
It was the night of the dance. The
time machine and refrigerator -- now
successfully lead-lined -- was
completely assembled in the back of
the truck. Beside it sat the power
converter and a motorcycle with
sidecar. As Professor Brown pulled a
tap over the back, Marty placed his
1982 clothes in a laundry bag, with
some bottles of Coke.
"Everything's ready to go," the
Professor said, securing the tarp
carefully. He looked up. "What about
the chemicals for the power
converter....whatever they are?"
Marty opened the door and stashed the
laundry bag at the floor of the
passenger seat. "That's all taken
care of."
"Good." Professor Brown tested the
tarp, noting in satisfaction that it
was secure. "I'll pick you up in
front of the school at midnight.
Don't be late -- we're cutting it
close as it is. We've got a long
drive ahead of us."
Marty nodded. He twisted his tie
around his fingers, almost
absentmindedly. He wasn't feeling too
hot about the next few hours. "Look.
I'm a little worried about this --
this whole thing with my mother," he
admitted to the Professor. "I mean, I
don't know if I can do it -- I mean,
hitting on my own mother, that's
pretty heavy."
"Nobody said anything about hitting
her," Professor Brown said. "You're
just going to take a few liberties
with her."
"That's exactly what I said!" Marty
insisted. "I mean, a guy and his
mother -- that's illegal, isn't it?"
"Look, Marty, she's not your mother
yet," the Professor explained
carefully. "And if you don't go
through with this, she may never be.
I know it's hard, but there are some
things we must do in life that are
unpleasant. Some choices must be made
that are difficult. Nonetheless, we
must make them. Besides, this may be
more than a simple question of your
own existence," he added. "The fate
of the entire space-time continuum
may rest on your shoulders."
Marty tried to smile at him. "That's
just what I needed to hear."
"It'll be fine, Marty," Professor
Brown assured him, patting him on the
shoulder. "You'll be fine. Good
luck." He stuck his hand out and
Marty shook it. But there was still a
question that was nagging at him....
"Professor," he began hesitantly, "if
something does go wrong tonight....if
I don't get my parents back
together....when do you think I'd
cease to exist?"
The Professor shrugged. "There's no
way of knowing."
Perfect, Marty thought.
"It could happen at the moment you
arrive back in the future," Professor
Brown continued, "theoretically, it
could happen at the moment of your
birth...or conception. Actually, it
could happen at any time. It's a
question to which I hope we'll never
learn the answer."
Marty nodded vigorously. "Amen."
* * * Not too much later, Marty
pulled into the high school parking
lot with Eileen at his side in the
Professor's Packard. He carefully
parked the car. It was hard for him
to look at his mother, Eileen, in the
dress she was wearing. It was a light
pink color, low cut, showing off her
cleavage. He stared at the clock in
the dashboard instead.
"Uh....let's just sit here for a few
minutes," Marty suggested, his voice
cracking.
Eileen looked at him with motherly
concern. "Are you all right, Marty?
You seem a little...nervous."
"Oh, no, I'm fine...fine," he said
quickly, trying to smile at her. It
came out pretty shaky. But Eileen
smiled back a moment later.
"I'm usually nervous myself on first
dates...but not tonight. It's funny,
but somehow, I feel like....like I
know you," she confessed.
"Uh, yeah, well, believe me, I sure
feel like I know you!" Marty said
honestly. He wondered how George was
doing, and wished he'd hurry up and
get his ass out here!
* * * The dance was in full swing.
The band, Lester Moon and the
Midnighters, were on stage, playing
"The Blue Tango." In the middle of
the dance floor was a big paper-mache
Eiffel Tower, around which students
were doing the Tango. George looked
up at the clock in the gym. 8:59. He
quickly looked at his watch. It read
8:55. Which one was right?
He ran over to a student nearby.
"What time do you have?" he asked
frantically.
The guy looked at his watch. "Five
after nine."
George let out a moan and ran as fast
as he could from the gym!
* * * Marty shifted uncomfortably in
the seat and glanced at the clock
again. "Why are you so nervous?"
Eileen asked with a frown, watching
him carefully.
Marty took a deep breath, trying to
steady himself. He had to get a grip!
"Well, Eileen...jeez, that's hard for
me to say," he muttered. "Have you
ever been in a situation where --
well -- you know you have to act a
certain way, but when you get there,
you don't know if you can go through
with it?"
"You mean like how you're supposed to
act with someone on a first date?"
Marty titled his head to the side.
"Well, sort of...."
Eileen nodded, interrupting him. "I
think I know exactly what you mean."
"You do?"
Eileen nodded again, slower. "And you
know what I do in those situations?"
Marty finally looked at her, waiting
for the answer.
"I don't worry about it!" she
exclaimed.
The words had barely left her lips
when she lunged at Marty, nearly
knocking him over, starting to kiss
him passionately.
Eileen climbed all over him, her
skirts everywhere. She reached out
and took Marty's hand, lying limp at
his side, and placed it on the top of
her bare breasts. Marty couldn't
move, paralysed in shock that this
promiscuous teenager was his mother!
* * * George stood at a pay phone,
quickly dialing the number for the
time. The phone rang two long times
before a woman answered.
"At the tone, the time will be 9:00
exactly."
Before the tone could go off, George
dropped the phone and raced down the
hall. He had to get to the parking
lot!
* * * Eileen had been attacking Marty
for about a minute -- a very long
minute in Marty's opinion -- before
she suddenly stopped and pushed him
away. The buttons at the top of her
dress were undone and her bra was
exposed.
"This isn't right," she said slowly.
* * * George reached the front of the
school doors and threw them open.
Suddenly, he was jerked to a stop. He
looked behind him and saw his jacket
had caught on the door jamb. He tried
frantically to get it loose, all the
while aware of the seconds ticking
by.
* * * Eileen continued to speak.
"I don't know what it is, but...when
I kiss you...something's wrong," she
said hesitantly. "It almost feels
like...like I was kissing my
brother...or my father.... I don't
understand it, but I just know it's
wrong." She looked at Marty, her eyes
wide. "I guess that doesn't make any
sense, does it?"
Marty stared at her, finally finding
his voice. "Believe me, it makes
perfect sense."
Sudden footsteps crunched on gravel,
approaching the car. Eileen glanced
outside. "Sounds like somebody's
coming."
The steps grew closer. Marty looked
at the clock. Nine on the dot. "Not
now, George," he murmured. "Not
now...."
The driver's door was suddenly thrown
open. Marty had hardly turned toward
it when he was yanked out of the car
roughly. Instead of George, he saw
someone he had not expected in the
least. It was Biff!
"I been lookin' for you, A-hole," the
bully growled in a low voice. He
shoved Marty over to Skinhead,
standing nearby. Marty fought to get
free, but he was no match for Biff's
gang. Three against one was never
good odds.
"Let go of him!" Eileen demanded,
watching the spectacle from inside
the car. "Leave him alone!"
A smile spread across Biff's face
when he noticed Eileen. "Look at what
we have here!" he cried to his
friends. His eyes traveled across her
body and he saw her bra half exposed.
"Eileen -- I didn't know you were
that kinda girl!"
"I'm not!" Eileen started to climb
out of the car.
"Oh no, you don't!" Before she could
get anywhere, Biff grabbed her and
pushed her back inside, then climbed
in after her. He looked at his gang
as he pulled a struggling Eileen
towards him. "Take him around back.
I'll join you in a minute."
When his gang made no move to leave,
he added, "Go on! This ain't no
peepshow!"
Marty tried to get free and help his
mom -- do something -- but he was
helpless! As he was dragged away, he
saw Biff slam the door and lunge
toward Eileen to kiss her. She fought
and a moment later, all Marty saw
were her skirts and flailing arms and
legs. Eileen was trying to scream,
but Biff -- in some way or another --
kept cutting her off.
Marty was dragged around a corner,
the car vanishing from his view. A
man stood at the side door, smoking
something. Marty twisted his head
around and saw him about the same
time the black man saw them. It was
Reginald Washington, the same guy who
had liked his music.
"Hey!" he demanded. "What's going on
there?"
Marty tried to answer, but one of the
bullies conveniently had their hand
over his mouth. "Beat it, black boy!"
Gums answered.
Reginald took a step forward. "Hey,
now, you'd better --"
"Listen, spook," Skinhead
interrupted, "you lookin' for
trouble?" "No, sir, I don't want no
trouble." Reginald backed away and
went back into the school. Marty was
left alone, at the mercy of Biff's
gang.
* * * George finally managed to get
his jacket free and ran down the
front steps across to the parking
lot. He hurried through the lot, his
eyes skimming the rows of car for the
cream colored Packard. Finally, he
zeroed in on it. His eyes widened as
he saw that Eileen and Marty were
struggling inside, Eileen screaming.
George steadied himself, hiked up his
pants, and rushed to the side of the
car. He opened the driver's side
door.
"Hey, you!" he said forcefully. "Get
your damn hands -- uh oh!"
It wasn't Marty inside with Eileen.
When the guy inside turned around, he
saw with horror that it was Biff
Tannen instead! An icy stab of fear
hit George in the chest.
"I think you got the wrong car,
McFly," Biff said slowly, his voice
low.
Eileen struggled to sit up. "George!
Help me!" she begged.
George looked at her, feeling
strangely detached from the
situation. He didn't know what to do!
A part of him wanted to run as fast
and far away as possible, but at the
same time he knew he couldn't leave
Eileen alone with Biff.
"Just close the door, McFly, and walk
away," Biff continued in the same
deadly serious voice.
"George! Please! Help me!" Eileen
moaned from inside the car.
George stood rooted to where he was,
unable to make up his mind. His eyes
darted between Biff's mask of anger,
and Eileen's tear streaked face. What
should he do?
* * * Marty was shoved back against
the school wall. His head slammed
against the concrete wall and he
winced. Gums and Match kept a firm
hold on him, so he couldn't get away.
Across from him, Skinhead pulled his
fist back, ready to slam Marty in the
face. Marty closed his eyes, tensing
up, waiting for the blow.
But it never came. Instead he heard
footsteps and cries of surprise from
Biff's gang. He opened his eyes and
saw that Reginald had brought some
friends. It was the band that was
playing at the dance.
"Who you callin' 'spook',
peckerwood?" one of them said.
Skinhead tried to throw a punch at
him -- but the guy got him instead!
Then the rest of the men went after
Gums and Match -- who saw them
approaching and tried to make a run
for it, releasing Marty.
Marty darted away to the parking lot,
not letting the chance to escape pass
by. He had to get back to Eileen!
* * * George stared at Biff, who
stared back angrily. "All right,
McFly, I asked you politely to
leave," he warned. "Now I'm gonna
have to teach you a lesson!"
Biff stepped out of the car and
before George could move, he grabbed
his right arm and twisted it back.
George let out a moan of pain. Biff
started laughing, as if it was some
kind of great joke. The laugh taunted
George, made him angrier and angrier.
Without thinking about it, his left
hand clenched into a fist and he spun
around. His fist connected solidly
with Biff's face, and the smile
dropped from the bully's face a
second before he dropped to the
ground, out cold!
George looked at his hand, stunned,
as if he couldn't believe that it had
done such a thing.
Marty reached the site just then,
skidding to a stop. Eileen climbed
out of the car and gave George a hug.
He hugged her back tentatively. Marty
ducked back into the shadows, not
wanting to be spotted by either one
of them and ruin the moment.
A few other kids from the dance were
migrating toward the site now. "Did
you see that?" a girl asked.
"Kid's got the greatest left hook
since Jo Louis!" another guy
declared. "Laid 'im out cold with one
punch!"
"Somebody better call an ambulance."
Marty shook his head, amazed that
they were talking about his father!
He watched George and Eileen walk
slowly toward the school, arm in arm.
Right before they entered, Eileen
turned around and caught sight of
Marty staring at them. She gave him a
shy smile and he grinned at her in
return. Once they entered the
building, he turned and ran back to
the side of the school, where he had
left Biff's gang.
The band members were running off
Biff's gang. As Marty approached
them, one of them got one last kick
at Skinhead in the ass before they
spilt. "Hey, thanks a lot, you guys,"
he told the band as they watched the
three hoods scatter into the night.
"It's okay," the guy who had saved
Marty said.
"Well, you guys go back in there and
play the best version of 'Turn Back
the Hands of Time' that you can,"
Marty said, glancing towards the
door.
The band members shook their heads.
"Sorry, my friend, we're through for
tonight."
Marty looked at them, stunned. "What
do you mean?"
"Look at Lester's hand," the drummer
pointed out. "He smashed it on top of
old Baldy. We can't play without
Lester."
Marty glanced at Lester, who was
wrapping a handkerchief around his
bruised and bleeding hand. "But you
guys have to play!" he insisted. "The
dance isn't over yet! You gotta play
'Turn Back the Hands of Time'. My
parents gotta -- George, Eileen gotta
dance the last dance and kiss!"
"Hey, man, the dance is over...unless
you can find somebody who can play
the guitar."
Marty turned to look at Reginald.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Twelve
Marty stood on stage with the band,
playing "Turn Back the Hands of Time"
with them. He could see his parents
dancing cheek to cheek in the middle
of the dance floor. Marty watched
them carefully as the song ended,
holding his breath. They leaned
forward slowly, hesitantly....then
their lips met in a kiss! He smiled
in relief, then checked the time. A
few minutes before midnight.
Marty stepped forward to the
microphone set up. "Well, folks, that
about wraps it up for this
evening...." he began.
The students moaned in
disappointment. "Aww, one more! Just
one more!" they pleaded.
"You want one more, huh?" Marty
looked at the clock again, then
turned to the band. None of them
appeared to have any objections. He
looked at the crowd, considering,
then finally decided to go for it.
"Well, I probably shouldn't do this,
but what the hell, you're gonna be
hearing a lot of this in the future
anyway...." He turned around. "Follow
me, fellas," he told the band
members.
Marty walked over to his amp and
twisted the volume to the maximum
amount it would go. He placed his
guitar against it and shattered the
expectant silence of the gym with a
loud riff from the instrument. The
audience looked both shocked and
horrified, and the band exchanged
looks of confusion. Marty started in
on a Chuck Berry song, "Johnny B.
Goode," expressions in the gym
changing to astonishment. It took a
moment, but the band finally figured
out what was going on and joined in.
Marty grinned as the first -- very
first -- sound of rock 'n roll was
heard.
Kids started dancing, only a few at
first, then more joined in. Marty
started moving on stage, like the
rockers did at heavy metal concerts.
The crowd roared, total pandemonium
breaking out on the dance floor. No
one had ever heard this kind of music
before! The band got more and more
enthusiastic as the chaperones
clasped their hands tightly to their
ears, horrified expressions on their
faces.
Marty shifted the music to "Rock
Around the Clock," noting in
satisfaction that the entire gym was
dancing to the music. He loosened the
tie around his neck, sweating from
those hot stage lights, then decided
to just take his jacket off. He
yanked it off his body and tossed it
into the crowd.
Meanwhile, out in the hall, an old
teacher who had been chaperoning the
dance was on the phone. "That's
right, officer," she cried into the
phone, over the music, "there's a
riot in the school gym!"
In the gym, on the stage, the man
with the sax stepped forward and
improvised an impressive solo. Then
it was Marty's turn. He reached up
and tore open his shirt, making all
the girls shriek. Finally, with a
nervous look at the clock, he wrapped
the music up with a final riff. The
walls of the gym shook with the
applause. Marty took a bow and smiled
at the crowd. Behind him, the
Midnighters were breathless with all
the excitement.
"Good night, everybody!" Marty
shouted into the mike. He stepped
back, heading for the door, but the
band members crowded around him.
"Man, that stuff cooks! That's the
hottest sound I ever heard!" "You
gotta play that Monday for that
record company cat from New York!"
Marty lost the smile on his face,
suddenly serious. "I won't be there
Monday." The band members looked
stunned. Marty continued to talk
before they could ask any questions.
"And don't you guys play it either,"
he cautioned. "It's time hasn't come
yet. If you play it, you might screw
things up. It'll happen on it's own."
"What are you talking about?" Lester
wondered.
"Rock'n roll!" Marty said with a nod.
He turned and ran off stage, darting
though the halls to the front of the
building. Outside, he could see
Professor Brown's truck in front of
the school, engine idling, waiting to
go.
Marty burst out of the school and
jumped into the cab, slamming the
door behind him. He noticed that the
Professor was in an Army uniform.
"Everything's cool," he reported
breathlessly. "They danced, they
kissed, they're in love! Let's go!"
Professor Brown put his foot on the
gas and they tore out of the parking
lot.
* * * Several hours later, Marty was
still talking about the evening's
events to the Professor. "I sure wish
I could have seen the punch," he said
wistfully as they drove along a dark
highway. It was almost three in the
morning. "I mean, he decked him --
laid him out cold -- one punch. It
must have been beautiful! I didn't
know he had it in him!"
Professor Brown took his eyes off the
road a moment to look at Marty,
something about what he was saying
making him uneasy. "You didn't?"
"Nope. My father's never clenched a
fist in his entire life!"
"Curious," the Professor muttered,
concerned. "Very curious."
Marty shook his head, unaware of the
Professor's worries. "I just wish I
could have seen it..." He let his
voice trail off, staring out the dark
window, at the highway unwinding
before them. Professor Brown turned
his attention back to driving.
For the first time all evening, Marty
lapsed into silence. When the
Professor next looked at him, ten
minutes later, he was slumped back in
his seat, his forehead resting
against the window, eyes closed and
snoring softly. Professor Brown
didn't disturb him. Marty'd had a
long and busy night and deserved some
rest. Especially considering how much
work had to be done in the next day.
The light of dawn had hardly begun to
shine in the east when they crossed
the state line into Nevada. The
Professor pulled into a gas station
and stopped the car. The tank was
running low and they still had a ways
to go. Not to mention that, according
to a sign next to the station, there
would be no more chances to fill up
for 150 miles.
Professor Brown turned to Marty and
shook him awake, then handed him his
bag and told him to go change. As
Marty headed for the bathroom, the
Professor got out of the truck and
headed for the small building where
the grizzled gas attendant was
waiting.
* * * Inside the bathroom, Marty
quickly changed out of the suit he
had worn to the dance and into his
1982 clothes, pulling some Army
fatigues and a jacket over them. The
Army clothes were a little loose, but
it didn't matter. Once he had the
clothes on, Marty took the bottles of
Coke he had brought with him in his
bag and stuffed them deep into the
jacket's pockets. He looked in the
dusty mirror, checking his appearance
to make sure he looked okay and the
Coke bottles weren't visible. They
weren't. Marty quickly gathered up
his things and left the stuffy
restroom, joining up with the
Professor just as the gas had
finished.
"Twenty six gallons," the bearded
attendant said, checking the
readouts. "That'll be $3.75."
Marty almost choked. Since when was
gas so cheap? Before he had much time
to reflect on that, Professor Brown
paid the man and climbed into the
truck. Marty had no choice but to
follow and they continued towards the
test site.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Thirteen
Hours later, Professor Brown was
driving the truck down a dirt road.
At the end of it was a huge barbed
wire fence, padlocked, with a huge
sign. "U.S. Army. Restricted Area.
Authorized Personal Only." Their
goal. The test site.
The Professor nudged a dozing Marty
as they approached the gate and
pulled to a stop. He had previously
told Marty to leave the talking to
him, and Marty had no problem with
that. He certainly did not want to
get them arrested. Almost as soon as
they had stopped, an M.P. stepped up
to the truck, a rifle in hand.
"Where do you jokers think you're
going?" he asked, peering into the
cab.
The Professor picked up some papers -
- their "orders" -- off the dashboard
and handed them to the guy. "We're
here to deliver that refrigerator."
He pointed to the back.
The M.P. glanced at it and shook his
head. "Do you know where you are?"
"This is where they're gonna drop the
bomb, right? Well, Philco wants to
find out what it does to their
refrigerator," Professor Brown
explained smoothly.
The M.P. strolled over to the back
and used his gun to lift up a corner
of the tarp and look under it.
"What's with the motorcycle?"
Marty watched the Professor
carefully, wondering how he would
answer this one. As before, he had a
logical answer. "General Motors wants
to find out what it does to their
truck. The motorcycle is because we
don't want to find out what it does
to us."
The man glanced at the papers. "Well,
you better shake a leg. That bomb
goes off in fifty five minutes!"
Professor Brown and Marty glanced at
each other, relieved, then drove
through the now-open gate. They had
passed the first obstacle.
* * * Colonel Nordell peered through
binoculars at the barren desert from
the artillery bunker. The bunker had
a full communicational base in it,
with 105mm Howitzers, ready for any
last minute attacks. The desert
appeared to be peaceful and
deserted...then the Colonel saw the
army truck speeding toward the test
sight. He turned toward Lieutenant
Glass, standing beside him.
"Lieutenant, what's that vehicle
doing down there?" Colonel Nordell
demanded.
The lieutenant glanced up, looking
unconcerned. "Two guys delivering a
refrigerator from Philco, sir."
"From Philco?" The Colonel shook his
head. "Jesus Christ! How many
refrigerators do we have to blow up
in this test?"
* * * Marty and the Professor reached
the tract houses a few minutes after
being allowed inside. This suburbian
site was 1.5 miles from the blast
site, according to a large sign
nearby.
Professor Brown backed the truck into
a driveway of a house where two
mannequins were positioned on the
front lawn. The man was set up with a
lawn mower and the woman was in a
chaise lounge. Marty looked at the
bizzare spectacle for a moment, then
jumped out of the truck to open the
garage door for the Professor. He
finished backing the truck inside and
switched off the ignition.
It was hot outside already so Marty
took off his jacket and tossed it
inside the cab of the truck. He
helped the Professor take the tarp
off the back and start to hook the
time machine up.
* * *
The clock read 11:30AM inside the
detonation control room. The room
bustled with activity as the time
drew near for the blast.
"Coming up on exactly 30 minutes to
detonation," the timekeeper
announced. "Lock all timing
circuits...now."
"Mark," the first technition said. He
flipped a switch, starting four
clocks counting down in sync.
"Check arming circuits," the second
technition said.
The third technition looked at the
board. "Arming circuits are green."
"Final evacuation check," Major Lanza
ordered.
"Roger," Lieutenant Jones said.
* * * "There it is -- Ground Zero,"
Professor Brown said as he and Marty
peered through binoculars at the side
of the house. "And your target is 800
yards."
Behind them the time machine was
ready for action, the power converter
set up on the roof of the truck with
the solar cell panel pointed toward
the front of the vehicle.
"It was sure nice of Uncle Sam to put
those yardage markers up for us,"
Marty remarked, noticing the markers
at every 200 yards from the tower
with the atomic bomb on it.
"We're at one and a half miles, so
you're just a little over a mile from
where you want to be," Professor
Brown explained, lowering his
binoculars. "Wait until minus 3
minutes before you go -- that should
give you plenty of time, and it
should be close enough to zero hour
that they can't do anything to stop
you. Park the truck at 800 and get in
the refri-- the time chamber. Just be
sure the nose of the truck is pointed
at the bomb....the power converter
will do the rest."
Professor Brown headed into the
garage again and Marty followed. The
motorcycle was on the ground, with
the mannequin who had been mowing the
lawn in the side car passenger seat.
"Here's a walkie-talkie," the
Professor said, handing Marty the
object from inside the truck. He
pointed to the channel selector knob.
"I'll be on this frequency."
Professor Brown moved it up a few
numbers. "This one's the Army."
A voice from the control room came
on, mixed with static. "T minus 28
minutes, and counting."
The Professor checked the time. "I
better go." He held his hand out
towards the teenager. "Good luck,
Marty."
Marty shook his hand. "Thanks for
everything," he said.
Professor Brown grinned. "I guess
I'll see you in....30 years."
Marty swallowed hard, remembering the
Professor being gunned down in the
future. This was the last time he
would see him alive. "Uh...yeah...."
he murmured.
The Professor gave him an intense
look. "Is something wrong?"
Marty shook his head, biting his
lower lip as he tried to fight back
the threat of tears. "It's just
always so hard for me to say
goodbye," he whispered.
Marty turned suddenly and stepped
outside, unable to stand looking at
the Professor any longer. After a
moment, Professor Brown spoke.
"Marty," he began, sounding hesitant,
"I know I've repeatedly asked you not
to tell me anything about the future,
but....well, those loud bangs on the
tape recorder....are they...."
"Professor -- there are some doors
that shouldn't be opened," Marty said
softly, without turning around.
The Professor nodded slowly. In the
background, the walkie-talkie spoke.
"T minus 27 minutes."
Marty raised his binoculars again and
looked at Ground Zero.
The Professor watched him for a
moment, then went over to the
motorcycle. He stared at the
mannequin, realizing that something
was amiss. Professor Brown reached
into the truck cab and pulled out
Marty's Army jacket and placed it on
the mannequin. Then he got on,
started the engine, and drove away.
Marty continued to look through the
binoculars, hardly aware of the
Professor's departure.
* * * Lieutenant Glass watched the
desert from the artillery bunker
through his own set of binoculars. He
saw the motorcycle from the truck
with the refrigerator speed away with
the two men who had come with it
inside. The Lieutenant turned to
Colonel Nordell beside him.
"There go those two lovers who
brought the refrigerator," he said.
Colonel Nordell nodded. "All right."
He picked up a phone nearby.
"Evacuation is complete. This area is
secure," he said into it.
* * * When the Professor vanished
from view as he sped away, Marty
lowered his binoculars and checked
the time. He had about 25 minutes
left before the bomb would detonate
and over 20 minutes to go before he
had to start driving towards the
site.
Marty decided now would be a good
time to look around. He walked around
to the front of the house, taking a
moment to check out the yard and
home's exterior. Except for the
mannequins in the front, it looked
pretty typical for a 1950's home.
Marty walked across the grass and
tried the door. It was unlocked. He
stepped inside.
Marty was expecting the place to be
empty. To his amazement, the inside
was completely furnished. It looked
like a model home, awaiting display.
Current issues of popular -- in the
1950's, anyway -- magazines were on
the tables. There was a radio, even a
TV in the room. Marty looked in the
dining room and saw another group of
mannequins seated at the table, with
place settings arranged before them.
Marty shook his head, chuckling at
the lengths that the government went
with these experiments.
He went into the kitchen and looked
around this room. It was completely
furnished like the other rooms, down
to the last detail. In one corner a
Frigidaire refrigerator sat. Marty
walked over to it and opened it up.
It was well stocked with food. He saw
meat, cheese, milk eggs, Coke, fruit,
and vegetables. Marty plucked an
apple from inside, took a bite from
it, then set it back inside. He shut
the fridge and retraced his steps
back to the living room to check out
the TV.
The TV was full of static and snow
when he first switched it on. Marty
twisted the channel knob, finally
tuning into a somewhat muddy image of
the "Howdy Doody Show." Since it was
the only thing he could get a
reception on, Marty watched Clarabell
dancing around and slowly shook his
head.
"The 'fabulous fifties,' " he
quipped, grateful that he wouldn't be
stuck in that decade forever.
* * * "T-minus fourteen minutes," the
timekeeper read off in the detonation
control.
The first technition nodded. "Lock
all arming circuits."
The task was completely quickly.
"Preliminary arming circuits locked,"
the second technition reported. The
other two quickly followed.
"Main arming circuits locked."
"Auxiliary arming circuits locked."
Inside the artillery bunker, Captain
Teague began to pass out sunglasses
to his troops and to the privileged
civilian spectators.
"You are here to witness one of the
most spectacular sights in the
history of man," he said. "It is
really quite beautiful. There will be
an intense white fireball that will
recede into a bright yellow glow,
accompanied by an intense shock
wave...."
* * * Professor Brown headed towards
the gate on his motorcycle as the
M.P. listened to the countdown on
their radios. "T-minus 7 minutes,"
the monotonous voice from the
detonation control. "7 minutes until
detonation."
As the Professor got closer to the
gate, one of the M.P.'s opened it and
waved him through. Professor Brown
waved back over his shoulder, not
slowing the vehicle down in the
least.
* * * Marty started to take off his
army fatigues as he watched the TV.
Under the clothes was the outfit he
had come with from 1982. As soon as
he had shed the clothes from the
Army, he switched the walkie-talkie
on to check the time before the bomb
would go off.
"T-minus 6 minutes and counting...."
the voice from the control room
stated.
* * * Professor Brown continued the
high speed on his motorcycle down a
dirt road, then up a hill and into
the mountains. Finally, when the
ground leveled off, he cut the engine
and stopped the motorcycle. The
Professor reached for the binoculars
around his neck as he got off the
bike and walked to the edge of a
cliff. He peered at the test sight
with it's tract homes and the tower
where the nuclear bomb sat.
Professor Brown grabbed his walkie-
talkie and listened to the control
voice. "....5 minutes and
counting..."
He switched channels to the one Marty
was on. "Calling Marty," the
Professor said into the walkie-
talkie. "Do you read me?"
There was a long pause, during which
static played with the radio. Then:
"I read you, Professor," Marty said,
his voice coming through loud and
clear.
"Is everything set? Have you put the
formula in the power converter?"
"I'm on my way to do that right now,"
Marty answered.
* * * Marty brought the walkie-talkie
with him as he went into the garage
and opened the door into the cab to
get his jacket with the bottles of
Coke in it. But it wasn't there!
Marty blinked, shocked, and checked
the floor and behind the seats.
Nothing. He started to panic. Marty
climbed into the back of the truck
and checked there, even though the
chances were very slim that it could
have gotten there. It wasn't.
Marty snatched the walkie-talkie off
the front seat where he had set it.
"Professor!" he cried, panic and fear
filling his chest. "I can't find the
formula! I left it in my jacket, and
my jacket's gone!"
* * * Professor Brown heard Marty's
news and turned to look at the
motorcycle behind him. There was
Marty's jacket, still on the
mannequin where he had inadvertently
set it earlier. "Oh my God!" he
gasped in horror.
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Fourteen
Detonation Control was getting busier
and busier as the time for the bomb
to go off drew closer and closer. "T-
minutes 3 minutes, 30 seconds," the
timekeeper said.
"Released safety switches," the first
technition ordered. "First Safety."
The second technition flipped the
switch before him. "First safety
released."
"First safety released," the third
technition echoed as he flicked his
switch.
* * * Professor Brown was horrified
at the turn of events that had
suddenly sprouted. He frantically
called out instructions to Marty over
the walkie-talkie. "Marty, it's over.
Do you understand? It's over. Now I
want you to get in the refrig-- the
time chamber, and we'll just pray
that the lead lining --"
"The refrigerator!" Marty
interrupted. "Hang on, Professor!"
Professor Brown stared at the walkie-
talkie, wondering what was going on.
* * * Marty ran into the house and
straight to the kitchen. He yanked
open the refrigerator and his eyes
fell on those bottles of Coke he had
seen earlier. Marty let out a deep
sigh of relief, though he knew the
ordeal was far from over. He'd had
serious visions of his tombstone
there for a few minutes.
"Don't worry about a thing!" Marty
called into the walkie-talkie.
"There's plenty of formula in the
refrigerator!"
* * * On the hill the Professor was
confused. "The refrigerator?" he said
to himself. His eyes slid over to
Marty's jacket in the motorcycle,
considering.... After a moment,
Professor Brown switched the
frequency on the walkie-talkie to get
an update on the time.
"T-minutes 2 minutes, 50 seconds."
* * * Marty pulled himself up on top
of the truck's cab to get to the
power converter, juggling the two
bottles of Coke he had brought with
him from the refrigerator. Without
thinking, Marty tried to twist the
cap off the bottle, but it wouldn't
budge! He didn't have a bottle opener
with him either.
Aware of the time ticking down, Marty
finally smashed the neck of the
bottle against the roof of the cab
and poured the Coke -- along with a
few pieces of broken glass -- into
the power converter.
* * * "T minus 2 minutes, 40
seconds," the timekeeper recited.
"Release second safely," technition
one ordered.
The switch was flipped. "Second
safety released."
"Second safety released," the third
technition repeated.
* * * Marty climbed down from the
roof off the truck and got inside the
cab. It started without his hitch and
he slammed his foot against the
accelerator, heading in the direction
of Ground Zero.
* * * Colonel Nordell watched the
bomb site with his binoculars from
the artillery bunker. It was deserted
as it should be. He was about to turn
away, when a flash of movement caught
his eye. He couldn't believe it when
he saw the truck racing towards the
site of the bomb.
"Jesus!" Colonel Nordell cried.
"What's that truck doing out there?"
Captain Teague and Lieutenant Glass
turned to look through their
binoculars. "He's heading straight
for the bomb!" Captain Teague
realized.
"He's gotta be a Commie spy -- trying
to sabotage the test!" Lieutenant
Glass added.
"Captain!" Colonel Nordell shouted.
"Get your men on this artillery and
blow that truck to Kingdom Come!"
Captain Teague nodded curtly and
turned to his crew. "Men, get on this
artillery and blow that truck to
Kingdom Come!" he relayed. "Fire
mission! Let's move!"
The military men made a dash for the
105mm Howitzer.
Marty drove the truck past mile
marker 1.3, unaware of the eminent
danger. Gun breeches were opened with
105mm shells being loaded inside the
artillery bunker. The weapons were
slammed shut and cranked around
towards the outside and the truck.
"Captain!" Sargent Gunther yelled.
"Give us some coordinates!"
Captain Teague shook his head. "I
don't have any! We'll have to fire
direct!"
Marty drove by the 1 mile mark as the
three Howitzers were pointed in his
vague direction. "Fire!" the Captain
ordered.
* * * Something suddenly exploded a
hundred feet to Marty's side, dirt
raining down everywhere. Marty
gripped the wheel tightly in his
hands, his nerves strung out.
"Jesus!" he gasped, wondering what
the hell was going on.
* * * Meanwhile, Captain Teague was
shouting more instructions at his
men. Having seen the first blast with
his binoculars, he now had a better
idea where to fire. "Drop 5
elevation, add 8 deflection," he
barked. Another weapon was adjusted
to the position and fired.
* * * Marty had managed to calm
himself down after the first
explosion. He'd hardly began to
breathe normally again when something
else exploded, this one a lot closer
in front of the truck, but still off
to the side. Marty twisted the wheel
to the side, terrified of being blow
up, hardly noticing the 1400 yards
marker as he drove by it.
On the hill, Professor Brown could
see the whole thing through his
binoculars. "Oh my God!" he cried,
feeling helpless to do anything.
* * * "One minute, fifteen seconds!"
the timekeeper announced from
detonation control.
"Release final safety."
"Final safety released," technition
number two said.
The third technition flipped the
switch. "Final safety released."
In the artillery bunker, Sergeant
Gunther realigned the Howitzer, to a
new position. "Drop 2 elevation,
minus 3 deflection."
* * * The new shell hit the ground
several yards before the truck,
sending a heavy rain of dirt on the
windshield. Marty drove around the
hole and looked behind him,
shuddering as he realized how close
that one had come. Up ahead was his
goal, the 800 yard maker. Marty
slammed the truck to a stop and
turned to the Army channel on the
walkie-talkie.
"Exactly one minute till detonation!"
the voice said. "59....58...."
* * * \Colonel Nordell lowered his
binoculars and turned to Captain
Teague. "He's stopped, Captain! Right
at the 800 yard marker!"
Captain Teague smiled tightly. "We'll
get him for sure this time! Add 1 and
a half elevation!" he added to his
men.
* * * Inside the truck, Marty
listened to the countdown, his heart
pounding with exhilaration and fear.
"...53...52...."
"Hurry up!" he hissed, grabbing the
radio, then throwing open the door of
the truck to the outside.
* * * Professor Brown continued to
watch the truck with Marty in it, his
walkie- talkie in the other hand.
"Move the truck!" he shouted into the
radio. "They're gonna draw a bead on
you!"
The truck did not move.
* * * Sergeant Gunther finished the
adjustments on his weapon. "I've got
a bead on him!" he announced.
* * * Marty was about to climb in the
back of the truck, the countdown
still on his walkie-talkie.
"..47...46...." the announced said
flatly.
Marty let out an impatient sigh and
decided to report in to the
Professor. He flipped the channel,
but before he could say anything, he
heard Professor Brown was yelling at
him over the airwaves.
"Back up! Back up!" the Professor
yelled, sounding frantic. "They're
drawing a bead on you! Back up!"
Marty froze for a moment, then took
off for the cab of the truck as fast
as he could, expecting to be hit by
some weapon any second.
* * * "FIRE!" Captain Teague
screamed.
Sergeant Gunther pulled the trigger
and the cannon let out a noise that
shook the ground.
* * * Marty turned the key in the
ignition of the truck, threw the
stick shift into reverse, and hit the
gas pedal as hard as he could.
A second later, a huge explosion
wiped out the 800 yard marker where
he had been parked. The truck
trembled from the shock wave. Marty
stopped the truck several hundred
feet away and watched the smoke
clear. A huge crater in the ground
was all that remained of yard marker
800, where he had been seconds
before. He swallowed hard.
* * * "T-minus 30 seconds!" the voice
from detonation control said.
Colonel Nordell turned away from the
window before the smoke cleared on
the last explosion. "Everybody into
the bunker!" he yelled. "Take cover!
Now!"
There was a mad dash as the men all
left their posts and headed for the
stairs that lead to the underground
bomb shelter. The truck was
forgotten.
* * * Marty could hear the voice
start counting down the remaining
thirty seconds before the bomb would
go off. He turned the key in the
ignition, but the engine wouldn't
start! His face grew even paler then
it was already as he tried it again.
Still, nothing happened!
"....24....23....22..." the voice
said over the walkie-talkie,
incredibly calm.
* * * Up on the hill, Professor Brown
kept his binoculars trained on
Marty's truck. "Come on, Marty!" he
whispered, unaware that the teenager
was having any problems. "Come on!"
"....20...19....18..."
* * * Marty swallowed hard, gripping
the key as hard as he could and
turning it for the third time. The
engine groaned....but then it caught!
He sighed in relief and aimed at the
crater, over a hundred yards away.
"...14...13...12..."
Marty grabbed the walkie-talkie and
leaned over it, wedging it against
the accelerator. The truck started
moving and he threw opened the door,
jumping to the ground. The truck
picked up speed as Marty ran to the
back, grabbing hold of the sides of
the vehicle and pulling himself
inside. He threw the switches on the
time machine, turning it on and
preparing it for the trip back....he
hoped.
It could have been his imagination,
but Marty swore he could still hear
the timekeeper over the roar of
everything.
"....9....8...7..."
The truck pitched forward into the
gaping hole left from the Howitzer
shell. Marty lost his balance,
unprepared for the jolt, and fell
into the bed of the truck. His head
struck the metal floor, which left
him slightly dazed for a second. He
realized that the truck had gotten
slightly off center with where the
solar cell that was positioned just
so as it had fallen and quickly
climbed to his feet to jerk the cells
back where they belonged.
"....5....4...3..."
Marty threw open the door of the
refrigerator -- or time chamber --
and stepped inside.
"...2....1..."
He slammed the door shut.
* * * "Detonate!" the timekeeper
cried in the control room. Three
technitions, turned their keys at the
same time, setting off an incredible
white fireball that made the
surroundings invisible with light for
a moment before dimming to a glow of
softer yellow.
* * * The bright white light hit the
power converter. Marty glanced up
inside his cramped quarters to see a
thin beam of the same color hit him
from the focusing lense suspended
above his head. He closed his eyes as
a strange feeling swept over his
body....
* * * The yellow glow from the bomb
lasted a few moments, turning
everything yellow. The tower which
housed the bomb was vaporized and the
truck of Marty and the Professor's
began to melt from the intense heat.
Inside the command bunker, the Army
officers with their men and the
chosen civilians gaped at the site
before them as the mushroom cloud
formed, it's radioactive smoke
reaching thousands of feet into the
atmosphere.
Safely on the hill, Professor Brown
turned his back on the site and over
to the mannequin in the sidecar. A
medium sized bulge rested in one of
the pockets of the Army jacket. The
Professor looked at it a long moment,
long after the light of the bomb
faded and the shock wave had passed.
He remembered Marty's words from
earlier and wondered: Should I
look....?
-------------------------------------
-------------------------------------
------
Chapter Fifteen
Marty saw completely and utter
darkness around him. The air around
him had grow hot and stuffy. He
resisted the urge to cough and felt
for the handle of the refrigerator
door. His hand came into contact with
it after a moment's search and he
pushed forward.
A crack of sunlight split the
darkness. Marty pushed the door
harder and a shower of sand rained on
him. He climbed to the outside world.
The sun was shining brightly in a
clear blue sky. Marty looked down at
the refrigerator and saw that it was
half rotted and worn away with age.
Next to it, he recognized the remains
of the Army truck, twisted and almost
unrecognizable, half buried in the
sand.
Marty took a step away from the
refrigerator and looked around him.
It was barren out here. He saw
nothing but an ocean of hot sand all
around. Marty glanced at his watch.
It was noon exactly. He squinted up
at the merciless glare of the sun.
"Shit," he said.
Marty decided the best thing for him
to do would be to start walking. He
set off in the direction of the sun,
not sure which way to head. A few
minutes after he started the hike,
Marty started to hear a low hum off
in the distance. It sounded like a
helicopter.
The sound grew closer and he looked
up at the sky, his eyes searching for
the source. He saw something in the
sky, but it looked strange. The craft
started to lower itself toward the
ground, grains of sand flying
everywhere. Marty squinted his eyes
and put a hand over them, turning his
head away. Between the glare of the
sun on the thing, and all the flying
sand, it was almost impossible to
tell anything about it.
After a moment, the noise faded away
and Marty turned around. Right in
front of him was a strange sight. It
looked like a car from the
1950's....but it had three
whitewalls, propellers, and funny
fins on the side. At the back of the
car was something that resembled the
Professor's power converter. As Marty
stared at the contraption, he noticed
Professor Brown in the driver's seat.
Marty opened his mouth to say
something, but nothing came out. The
Professor opened the door and jumped
out, heading towards Marty. He looked
older then he had in 1952, but not as
much as he had in 1982. Professor
Brown seemed different to Marty, his
posture straighter with more of a
spark in his eyes.
"Marty!" the Professor cried. "You're
here! Right on time! How are you?
Feeling okay?"
Marty tried to speak again. "What
year is this?" he asked hesitantly,
not sure if he wanted to hear the
answer.
Professor Brown beamed. "1982! March
18, just like we planned! My
calculations were absolutely correct!
Thirty years! God, I cannot believe
it's been thirty years!" he added,
mostly to himself. "Sure, it was a
long time ago -- longest I've ever
had to wait for the results of an
experiment!"
Marty was confused. "And you're
alive, Professor?" he asked,
remembering what had happened right
before he had left 1982. "You weren't
shot?"
Professor Brown looked at him
blankly. "Shot? Who'd want to shoot
me? I've never felt better in my
life!"
Marty didn't know what to say about
that. He continued to stare at the
flying vehicle and at the Professor.
"Hop in, Marty," Professor Brown
said, turning and heading for the
vehicle. "We've got a long driver
ahead of us."
"What do you call this?" Marty
wondered as he cautiously started
towards the contraption.
"A car," the Professor answered
matter-of-factly. Marty watched as
Professor Brown opened the door and
got inside. He slowly followed suit.
Inside the car, Marty noticed the
controls and the dashboard were
streamlined in a kind of old-
fashioned futuristic style. He was
distracted from his examination of
the car's interior by the Professor
leaning over and pulling out a 16
ounce bottle of Coke. He grabbed a
bottle opener that was on the
dashboard and opened it up, then
pulled open the dashboard in front of
Marty and hooked the bottle to a
funnel labeled "fuel" inside. Marty
remembered leaving the "formula" in
his jacket. Somehow, Professor Brown
must have found it.
"Professor...." Marty said, shaking
his head. "You peaked, didn't you?"
Professor Brown shrugged, looking a
little sheepish. "Yeah. I figured,
what the hell!"
A moment later he lifted the car up
from the sand and flew them away from
the old nuclear test site.
* * * Professor Brown waited a few
minutes before starting to answer
some of the questions Marty had begun
to throw at him. Marty wanted to know
everything that had happened over the
past thirty years to the Professor.
Things seemed so different from when
he had left.
"You see," Professor Brown said some
time later, "I never rebuilt the time
machine after it was destroyed in
1952. I decided that experimenting
with time and possibly changing
history was too risky. Anyway,
experiments in time travel were
banned in all 87 states after the
governor of Cuba caught Dr. Felstien
fooling around in the Bermuda
Triangle -- that was back in '64."
87 states? Time travel bans? What the
hell?
Marty didn't understand anything. He
tried not to think about that part of
the conversation. There were some
other, more important things to
wonder about. "But if you didn't
rebuild the time machine, how did I
go back in time in the first place?"
"According to your girl friend, Suzy
Parker, you and she were at the
movies. You went to the restroom and
you never came out. Obviously, you
stepped through an inter-dimensional
time warp, created by the original
operation of the time machine,"
Professor Brown explained.
Most of this was still going over
Marty's head. "Obviously," he said,
trying to appear that he had
understood.
"But I told everyone your
disappearance was due to a
teleportation experiment you were
helping me with. So don't mention
anything about time travel to
anyone."
Marty nodded. "What theater was I
at?"
"The Orpheum," the Professor
answered.
Marty smiled, some of this finally
clicking into place. He looked out
the window and saw, far below, a
clean and more of that old-fashioned
modern look on a city. It had
streamlined skyscrapers and even some
flying cars. Marty couldn't believe
it.
"Wow! Look at that city!"
Professor Brown glanced out the
window. "Pretty, isn't it?"
"It's the most beautiful city I've
ever seen!" Marty cried. "What is
it?"
The Professor smiled at him.
"Cleveland."
* * * It was night when they reached
Marty's house. It was the same one he
had left, but it looked different. On
closer inspection, Marty noticed the
corners were more rounded, almost
streamlined, and a large power
converter sat on the roof next to the
chimney. The Professor landed his car
next to another one in the driveway
that had all the elaborate propellers
and stuff on it too. Marty guessed
that this was considered the norm
here.
"Go on in," Professor Brown told him
when he noticed Marty's hesitation.
"I'll be with you as soon as I adjust
this blasted flow capacitor."
As Marty got out of the car, he
noticed more flying cars, busses,
even trucks in the air above his
home. He shook his head and turned
his attention back to his house. He
stared at it a long moment and took a
deep breath before walking to the
front door. Marty rang the doorbell,
unsure if he should just barge in.
With all the changes he had seen so
far, he wasn't sure if it would be a
good idea.
The door was answered a minute later,
but not by who he had expected. A
robot, looking vaguely like the one
Marty had seen on Professor Brown's
blueprints that one night, pulled the
door open. It was only about three or
four feet high, with a little bow tie
on.
"Greetings, Master Martin," the robot
said in an electronic monotone of a
voice. Let me take your coat."
Marty stared at the thing for a
moment. "Right...." he said, slowly
taking off his silver Porsche jacket
and handing it to the robot. Finally,
he stepped into his house.
Marty was surprised. Things actually
didn't look that different from when
he had left. His mother, sitting in
the living room, jumped to her feet
and rushed towards him.
"Marty!" she cried excitedly. "You're
back! I'm so glad to see you!" Eileen
McFly gave her son a hug, then seemed
to notice his clothes. She looked at
Marty, a faint smile on her face.
"Where did you get these silly
clothes?" she asked. Without waiting
for an answer, she turned to the
robot. "Sparky, get Marty some clean
clothes," she instructed it.
"Yes, Madam," the robot answered,
turning and heading out of the room.
Marty watched him go as his mother
spoke again.
"Your father's in the study. Say
hello to him."
He nodded and walked down the hall.
Marty stopped halfway to the study,
suddenly noticing several display
cases hanging on the hallway wall. In
one there was a pair of boxing gloves
with a plaque: "McFly-Liston Fight,
Madison Square Garden, 1966." In the
case next to that was a silver boxing
champion's belt with "George M.
McFly, World Middleweight Champion,
1963." In the last one was a framed
magazine ad with a picture of George
McFly holding a weird device with the
words: "The Champ gives tooth decay
the One-Two Punch with Son-O-Dent
ultra sonic tooth care system, by E.
Brown Enterprises," under the photo.
Marty was surprised and a little
shocked on all that had happened
since he had left.
George McFly looked up from his desk
as Marty entered his study. "Welcome
home, son!" he said, his voice
sounding a little different to
Marty's ears. More confident and
forceful, not nearly as meek, like it
had been before. "The Professor told
us what happened with the experiment
-- that there might be some side
effects...lapses of memory."
Marty edged closer to the desk to get
a better look at this new George
McFly. He, like the Professor, seemed
different -- for the better, but
still different. Dad didn't seem to
notice his scrutiny. He continued
talking.
"Your mom's got one heckuva dinner
planned tonight! She's been pushing
buttons all day!"
Marty nodded as if he understood, and
as he did so, he noticed a familiar
looking figure outside the window.
His eyes narrowed and Marty realized
it was Biff, wearing a security guard
uniform and in a chaise lounge,
appearing to be asleep. Marty's
father followed his gaze and opened
the window.
"Hey, Biff! What are you doing,
sleeping on the job? A security
guard's supposed to be alert!"
Biff smiled and sat up. "Yes, sir,
Mr. McFly," he said.
"What am I paying you fifty cents an
hour for?" Dad asked, his head out
the window.
"I'm sorry, Champ," Biff replied,
getting to his feet. "It won't happen
again, sir." He began to walk around
the yard.
George closed the window and sat back
down at his desk. Marty watched as he
attached a suction cup that was
connected by wire to something that
looked like a pen on his forehead. He
waved the "pen" over a blank check
and with a few electronic beeps,
handwriting appeared on the paper,
spelling out, "Pay to the order of
the Coca Cola Company."
"What are you doing, Dad?" Marty
asked, his eyes wide in amazement.
His father glanced up, puzzled.
"What's it look like I'm doing, son?
I'm paying the fuel bill. It's over
$2.00 this month -- we really oughta
try to cut down." Marty continued to
watch his father. George looked a
little concerned. "What's wrong, son?
You act like you've never seen a
Write-O-Matic before."
Marty pulled out his Bic pen from his
pocket and looked at it, shaking his
head.
"Say, what have you got there?" his
father asked, noticing the pen for
the first time. "An antique pen? Let
me see that!" He took it from Marty
and examined it carefully. "I haven't
seen one of these in....well, this is
strange. How do you fill it with
ink?"
Marty's father flashed him a strange
look, which made Marty feel slightly
uneasy. He looked like he wanted to
say something, but before he did,
someone knocked on the door. A second
later, Eileen came into the room.
"Marty, there's someone here to see
you," she said.
Suzy Parker came into the room. She
was wearing some strange clothes,
with her hair styled in a different,
unusual way, but Marty didn't care.
"Suzy!" he cried.
"Hi, Marty!" she answered brightly.
"What did you do to your hair?" he
asked.
"What did you do to yours?"
Marty and Suzy both laughed as
Professor Brown slipped into the
room. "Hey, how's my favorite girl?"
George asked Suzy.
She smiled. "Fine, Mr. McFly."
"Why don't you two get out of here --
I'm sure you can find something
better to do than watch me pay
bills!" Marty's father said to the
two of them.
Suzy looked at her boyfriend
critically. "Marty, you'd better
change your clothes. You can't go to
Mambo Class looking like that."
Marty stared at her blankly. "Mambo
class? You mean people still do the
Mambo?"
Suzy shrugged. "Sure. Everybody does
the Mambo!"
Marty thought about that for a
moment, wondering something
important. "Don't tell me you've
never heard of rock'n roll...." he
asked, half joking.
Suzy now directed a blank look at
him. "Rock and what?"
"I've never heard of it either,"
Professor Brown spoke up.
Marty gave a big grin. "Well maybe
it's time you did!"
He took Suzy's hand and the two of
them left the room, Eileen and
Professor Brown following.
* * *
George McFly was left alone in his
study, sitting at his desk. Something
about the conversation earlier with
his son was gnawing at him. He opened
his desk drawer and pulled out his
hydraulic scrapbook. After he plugged
it in, the pneumatic cylinders began
to turn the pages automatically. It
stopped at a certain page and George
looked at the newspaper clipping he
had saved in there, way back thirty
years ago.
"Police Quell Near Riot At School
Dance," the headlined said. It was
that old "Springtime in Paris" dance
the article was talking about.
Beneath the headline was a somewhat
grainy photograph of the young man on
stage who had played that strange
music. As George looked closer, he
saw that the young man in the picture
bore a striking resemblance to his
son.
George shook his head slowly. "Nah.
Couldn't be...."
http://www.kristensheley.com/bttf/original.html
For educational purposes
End of forwarded message
Jai Maharaj
http://www.mantra.com/jai
Om Shanti
Panchaang for 22 Paush 5104, Tuesday, January 13, 2004:
Shubhanu Nama Samvatsare Uttarayane Moksha Ritau
Dhanush Mase Krshn Pakshe Mangal Vasara Yuktayam
Uttaraphalguni-Hasta Nakshatr Atiganda Yog
Vanij-Vishti Karan Shasthi-Saptami Yam Tithau
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http://www.mantra.com/holocaust
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